The Crow Speaks Backwards
by TenTenD
Summary: He was a trueborn son of the royal line. Jon hardly understood his mother's insistence that he would never gain the throne, nor involve himself in the life of the realm. AU! Lady Lyanna Stark was weaned on tales of heroes and the monsters they slew. Once a young maiden, she wanted a hero of her own.
1. i - the cry that split the dark

"Go along now," Lyanna insisted, pushing her young niece towards an irate looking Septa Mordane. "Do your best by the good septa and I am certain you will find yourself much rewarded." She offered a gentle smile, pushing back an errant strand of hair. It could not be helped that the poor child loathed the sight of embroidery needles, she supposed; even so, she'd best grow used to seeing to her duties, even those as boring as embroidering.

Her son tried to intervene but she shushed him with a sharp look. "Your cousin undoubtedly wishes to be on her way without delay." Thank heavens the older sister was not half as stubborn as the other one. At least Ned had managed to get the rest of his household out of her way.

Lyanna knew her demands struck him as odd. But then, she was doing no more and no less than protecting her child's interests. She turned towards Arya yet again and widened her smile. With a brief pause she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "I shall convince your lady mother of the importance wielding something other than a needle carries."

Mood somewhat brightened, the young girl trudged towards the septa awaiting her and was led away without further fuss. Lyanna remained in the company of her son and brother, one of whom crossed his arms over his chest, while the other shook his head with something akin to affection.

Benjen gave her a mocking bow nevertheless, for all the love he bore her, before straightening himself and speaking, "I expect I too shall be snet on my merry way with as much deftness as my young niece. Alas, sister dearest, I've other plans." Thus before she might protest or defend herself in any manner, her rapscallion of a sibling took off.

"Should we not await Ser Jaime?" her firstborn ventured, eyeing the entrance to the crypts with mistrust. "Father said he was to accompany us."

"Should we travel. But I hardly see walking to the crypts as travelling." She nodded her head for emphasis and took Jon's hand with a practiced touch, feeling the calluses and unevenness of his skin, testimony to the many hours of practice with swords and lances. It was with loving adoration that she traced the pattern and with discerning eyes that she took in his reaction. For that reason Lyanna knew, inn her heart of hearts that she had come to the correct decision.

She had waited long enough.

"Mother, be reasonable. The steps are narrow and unreliable. And you, might I point out, are not in any condition to be exerting yourself." His lips thinned in a bloodless line as his eyes narrowed to slits, their cut sharp. "Whatever it is you wish to show me, I am certain it'll keep."

At times she wondered at the implacable stubbornness coursing through his veins. Stubborn as a mule, the boy was. But Lyanna had handled recalcitrant dragons as well as she did ornery ones. And Jon, no matter how unshakable he was to the world, remained her son and thus much at her mercy.

"I shan't argue with you, dear boy. You are coming with me to the crypts and that is it." Without further exchanges forthcoming, she started towards the cavernous space, a spark of something igniting in her chest as she clapped eyes upon the direwolf pup Robb Stark had insisted be given to Jon as a belated nameday gift. "You may bring Ghost along, if you wish."

"Your generosity humbles me," the boy lashed out, picking up his pet gingerly.

How fitting it was that her son clamber down those stairs with a direwolf in his arms. Its stone siblings were like to be pleased. She knew she was. Jon was no Stark, except might be in looks, but even so the old lord of the frozen realm had kept for him a very special gift. One that she herself had kept silent about, hoping that when the moment was right, she would give it to him.

Despite his unwillingness to join her, she was not at all surprised to feel his hand upon her shoulder as he stepped before her, taking the torch from the servant who hurriedly brought it and placing the direwolf in her arms. Rhaegar would likely heap praise upon the boy for his actions.

"If we must dust off the crypts then at least allow me to step before you, lady mother." No matter, they would be returning to King's Landing soon enough. Her husband's tone in his last letter had made it clear that she remained in Winterfell by the grace of her delicate condition. Just as soon as she was delivered of the child, she would be readied for her journey back.

Such was the power of a husband, she told herself, pushing past the bitterness of their parting. They had exchanged words spoken in anger and she still maintained she had been well within her right to make for her kin's home in such circumstances. But even she could see that hiding away was not a solution. She had known the manner of man she was taking up with the moment she chose to go with him. If she'd expected him to change, the by the gods, was she an even greater fool than he was with his belief that she'd been love-struck enough to run off with him.

Then again, Lyanna had sealed her fate long before catching sight of silver-haired princes and their harps. Catching Jon's sleeve, she followed him obediently down the steps, keeping herself as close to his back as her girth allowed. "Have a care, there is a broken step there."

"Aye, mother. I am perfectly capable of seeing that." The small pup she held close to her chest pawed at the mother of pearl beads strewn along her collar. His sharp claws scratched roughly over her skin. Might be he did not enjoy being surrounded by the dead.

She'd had a lifetime of exploring these parts, playing with Benjen in the dark. Sometimes she came by herself, with only a torch and some small candle stubs. It was the collapsed last floor that held her attention for the longest time. She knew all the kings and lords and their kin buried between pillars.

Jon paused, having brought her to her own father's resting place. She touched a finger to the edge of his final resting place. "Good morrow, lord father. It is long since I have come to you. I have brought Jon as well."

Jon was the only child of hers her father ever saw. At times she wished the gods had granted him more days, enough so that he might come to know the other as well. Yet the gods had not allowed her the joy. She glanced towards her son; he had his head bowed, glancing at naught in particular, naught that she might name.

She put Ghost down, allowing the pup to run about and sniff at the various statues. Curiously enough when Jon called to him, the beast ambled to him, meek as a lamb. "We shan't linger. Come. What I wish to show you lies deeper than you'd think.

Obediently, her son placed himself before her, carrying the torch. Ghost came at his heel, keeping pace with his long-limbed pace better than she and her full form could. "And where exactly do you wish to take us?" he questioned, allowing her to lean against him as exhaustion began to creep up upon her. She was either as young as she'd been a two decades past, nor as spry as she was as little as half a decade past.

The scent became heavy with moisture and stagnation the deeper they sank into the bowls of the earth. She placed a hand upon her lips, taking in the scent of rose-oil. It was nowhere near enough for her breathing to be an easy thing and she wondered how Jon coped, but they progressed further and further in, a plume of smoke the only sign of their passing.

She felt Ghost brush against her ankle and heard a short intake of breath coming from the only other soul in her company. Gazing over his shoulder, Lyanna realised the damage to the last of the crypt's floors was even more extensive than she had imagined. One of the pillars holding the roof has collapsed to the side, the runic engravings carved deep within the stone worn and faded. Its twin remained proudly unbowed.

She broke away from Jon and stepped towards the still standing pillar. "The first Starks believed that runes were enchanted. 'Tis said these are spells that bind the souls of the forefathers in service of the living." She traced the form of an unknown rune, staring at the fish-like shape as though it might reveal some hidden meaning to her. "Benjen never wanted to come this far down into the crypts."

"Wise fellow, that uncle of mine." She chuckled at the vehement agreement. "It would be unwise to venture further in. The roof could cave in."

"It shan't. Now, come closer." He did as she bade, bringing the flame with him. "Does this not look as though a fish is swimming upstream?" she asked of the boy. But his answer did not interest her. "The Starks of old burned their dead for a time, did you know? I read of such rituals when last we visited the Wall. Master Aemon, do you remember him, was kind enough to allow me the boon. There are so many books hidden in the dusty library at the Wall. I don't doubt your father would have taken all of them with him if he could."

"Fascinating as this impromptu lesson is, lady mother, I can feel the chill clinging to my bones. Surely it cannot be good for the babe."

"Your brother is surely not as weak as that," she spoke in an authoritative voice. "You have spent so little time in these parts that your warm Southron blood rebels at the cold. Nevertheless, you must endure."

Stepping beyond the pillar, she hugged herself loosely. Despite the words she'd used for her son's benefit, she too felt the cold; it's unnatural grip and intensity ripped a shiver from her, as much of a reaction as she was willing to give and might be even more.

Much like the other levels of the crypts were structures, the chaos before them had once been an orderly row of pillars mirrored of the other side. The left side had been ravaged by time, while the right remained unmolested for the most part. Lyanna stepped towards a wide urn, kneeling so that she might lift its lid. "Grain used to be placed in such urns," she elucidated, "and an old legend speaks of a maiden harvesting wheat when her beauty made a conquest out of a famed hero. Unable to win favour with the maiden's kin, he sought to steal her away. He hid her among the grain in such an urn but she suffocated to death. Her kin elected to bury along with the wheat they considered spoiled."

"My gratitude, lady mother; I shall never be able to see any urn with the same eyes." She ignored the answer and presented him with the lid. "See these?" She traced the small carving of a wheat stalk, "It must have taken much skill to have such detailed ornaments."

Jon took the lid from her, holding it up effortlessly. He gazed towards the urn with undisguised curiosity. But she merely wagged her finger at him and chided softly, "Nay, my sweet, no cheating. You must close your eyes and wait for your surprise."

Once certain he would not peek, she returned her attention to the gauze covering the prize. Without effort she bent and tugged the cloth away, lifting from its spot a well-kept secret. Her breath shuddered out in relief at its good condition. She'd been right not to bring it out.

Turning around with her precious cargo, she called her son's attention to her. "You may open your eyes now."

Eager for the surprise, to say the least, Jon immediately followed her instructions. The look upon his face was payment enough, as far as Lyanna was concerned. Wide-eyed, her son leaned in, reaching out as though through a trance, "Is this truly," he cut himself off, swallowing, throat working visibly.

"Your eyes do not deceive you," Lyanna confirmed, handing him the precious weight. "So much for the wisdom of maesters."

Jon held the round shape against his chest, looking down upon the light-coloured scales with apparent wonder. "But how?"

"I do not know to whom to attribute the parentage. One supposes there is some basis to the rumour that Vermax laid the eggs during his stay, but then the maesters call Vermax a male." And yet she could think of no other dragons that had enjoyed Winterfell's hospitality. Would you believe me if I told you finding dragon eggs has changed my life?"

The boy's head shot up just as his direwolf slammed into his leg. "Eggs? As in more than one?"

"I filled several of the urns with those eggs that had not been crushed by the rubble. As a child I was much lither than I am now. Crawling through cramped spaces was not such a trial." She pointed to yet another collapsed beam. "If you can lift that and clear a path, there should be another egg there."

"If it survived," Jon said, eyeing the beam with steely concentration. "Why you, lady mother? Out of all the Starks within these walls, why you?"

She shrugged. There was no answer she could give that might make sense to him. Might as well attempt to frame it with the terms of truth. "I thought I heard my own lady mother calling me down into the darkness. One day, I heeded the call and climbed down into the blackness." Her eyes wandered to an urn she knew to carry a body and not an egg. "And the rest is history." She took the torch from him.

"You had a father, and brothers." As unhelpful as the remark was, she could not help but feel mellowed by it. Of course the poor boy would not understand.

"But I did not have a mother. All I'd ever wanted was to see her smile. She led me to this finding and I assumed the path I thought might bring her joy." Lyanna cleared her throat and sat down upon a severed stump. Her middle cramped with pain and she sighed. "You are almost a man grown. I believe it is time you knew what I have so long put off telling you." His nod of agreement warmed her some. "Giving you this gift is only part of why I chose to come here of all places. Jon, my dear boy, in my heart I feel the darkness tugging at me. This time its call is to stay."

He blanched, the leeching of colour clear even in the lacking torchlight. "Mother, mummery does not suit you. You have given birth before; surely this time is no different. It must be this heavy air. Let us depart before long, aye?"

Despite his not saying it, she knew her child did not worry about stale air. "We can speak of it, Jon. I am not like to burst into tears, you know." He placed the egg at her feet and turned towards the fallen beam, silence clinging to his like a shield might. "I do not know what you father might have said that you insisted to come with me, but I am not a wilting flower."

He crouched by the beam and tested its weight, lifting the rotting wood. "I doubt I can move this without causing the rest of it to come tumbling down." He glanced over his shoulder. "And I am not avoiding the subject, lady mother, you are the one who chose not to broach it. I was merely doing my best to respect your wishes."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Lyanna narrowed her eyes in a glare. Contrary to her earlier words she did have a good idea of what Rhaegar had been filling the boy's head with. Yet she could not bring herself to say as much to his face. It would lead to a standstill, one which she'd been caught into with his father and she hadn't the strength to justify her actions to the son as well. It had been exhausting enough to speak of it to Rhaegar. She did wish there were a way she might make them understand.

No matter, she had achieved one of her objectives. And she need but wait to achieve the others. It would happen sooner or later.

Jon tugged upon the beam, managing to budge it ever so slightly. However, his success was followed by a rain of dust and pebbles as he jumped back. Instinctively she jumped to her feet, a hiss of pain making it past her lips. "Have a care!"

"It would be best if we left, now." Though he spoke in a quiet vice, Lyanna detected the edge of panic much too clearly for her liking. "Ghost, to me."

She too turned towards the doorway leading to the narrow stairwell. Only that before she might take another step, a sharp pain rippled through her middle, pulsing in sync with the booming ache exploding inside her skull. She heard Jon calling to her and she felt something hard beneath her. Breath cut short, she struggled to gulp in fetid air as steady hands turned her over. She reined in a pained moan and held her arms out for Jon to help her up.

"You must keep still," Jon said, pushed her back. "I do not know if I can carry you up the stairs." He winced as a loud crash drowned out the sound of their breath. He nit his lower lip before his gaze moved away from her and then back to her face. "Keep still," he repeated when she attempted to rise. He did help her rest against the stump.

It was then that Lyanna managed to catch sight of the hem of her skirts. The gold thread no longer reflected the warmth of the sun, but shone with a rosy hue in the light of the flickering torch. Her head swivelled towards the entrance.

"I can stand." If only she made it to the stairs, it would still be safer than lingering. In spite of the protests stumbling past his lips, Jon took her weight against him as much as he could. Ghost had already run to the stairs and rested on the first of them, watching them advance through ruby eyes.

The low pant reverberated through her head and she wondered who it was that breathed so hard only to realise that it was she who made those sounds. Swamped by shame she had the unrelenting urge to hide away her face, but nay, she would allow herself to feel in such a manner once she had the luxury of wallowing.

Her son deposited her upon the first step and shrugged off his cloak, creating a cushion of sorts for her to lie upon. He hanged the sconce upon the wall afterwards and turned with a stern frown to his pet. "Ghost, guard." Lyanna saw him point towards her. "I will try to be as expedient as possible, lady mother. I pray you endure awhile longer."

"I will do my best," she echoed his earlier words.

She heard him clambering up the stairs and closed her eyes against the pain. The darkness called out to her. "Not yet," she whispered back. "I need more time."


	2. ii - the slow unspooling of innards

Ser Jaime Lannister gave him a look as though to question his sanity. Jon flushed and grew flustered under the intensity of the stare and stammered out yet another explanation. "I do not believe the lower levels to be very stable."

"Aye, so I understood," the man drawled, apparently unimpressed. "One wonders though, why Your Grace ever allowed the woman to carry out such folly." He did not wait for an answer, instead picked up his sword which had been resting against the wall, and hurriedly stepped over the threshold, calling out to the first servant he saw.

According to his lady mother, Ser Jaime had been knighted the same year she met his father, at the very tourney responsible for many a tongues wagging. The youngest knight to have ever received the great honour of being numbered among the elite ranks of the Kingsguards; Jon pressed past with a half-baked idea of calling upon the maester. Before he could step too far, a hand clapped down upon his shoulder, pulling him backwards.

"Allow the servants to fulfil their tasks. Let us retrieve Her Grace, meantime." There was no protest he could offer. Jon glanced from the servant hurrying away the lightly garbed Ser Jaime who saw no use to wearing armour, but nevertheless armed himself with a short blade in addition to his steel from a fresh-faced lad serving as squire.

"Was Her Grace injured?" the Kingsguard questioned, his steps carrying him swiftly through the distance between the keep and the crypts.

"Not that I could ascertain." It was a small lie. The rubble that had fallen had not harmed his mother enough to leave her unconscious. Indeed, Jon did not think her affected beyond imbuing her with fright. Was that enough to forge the babe she carried into the world?

He dearly hoped it was not the case. Whatever influence he held over his mother, it was a frail, fleeting thing, meant to inspire a false sense of safety on the road to crushing defeat. Father had a firmer, better grasp on her, for all that was worth. Whatever his thoughts upon the matter, Jon reminded himself, he'd followed his mother to Winterfell in part to satisfy his duty and in part to satisfy his father's exacting demands regarding how his wife might be handled. Confused though he might be at the reasons behind the actions taken by his family, it was not his place to question them.

Together with Ser Jaime, Jon descended into the darkness, the humid, stale air enveloping him within its eerie embrace. There was a warmth beneath the earthen first layer . 'Twas not the natural heat of fire, nor did it carry the likeness of flesh. It was something different, something more, as though being plunged into a timeless, unformed place. Unable to shake off the traces of unease, Jon steeled himself against the feeling. He climbed down the stairs with careful steps , easing further and further into the tunnel.

A dim light flickered down ahead. No sounds reached him, but Jon caught sight of movement. He eased past Ser Jaime who had little protest to give.

"You have returned," his mother spoke, having managed to lift herself into a sitting position. Though her face seemed leeched of blood in the low light, her spirit was otherwise untarnished. It had always fascinated him that one such as his mother, unremarkable by any account, occasionally given to bouts of crippling feebleness, could still drive back the blackest of blemishes. He reached out for her hand, feeling the coldness of her limb with a murmur of agreement. "Your pet has been a loyal companion, you know. I would have been contented to remain with him."

"Your Grace, I fear such would not be allowed," Ser Jaime intervened, lifting his lady mother up without any visible strain. "Pray, tell me, were you harmed?"

"No more than my pride," the woman stubbornly replied, despite the splotches of blood staining the golden embroidery decorating her skirts. The knight stared at the evidence for Aa brief moment but did not seem inclined to press her further.

"What is that?" Jaime Lannister nodded to the egg Jon had placed upon the ground in his hast to make his mother comfortable.

"Something that is for my son to care for, Ser Jaime, and for you not to worry over. Lions have no love for a reptile's eggs, so they?" Though her tone was light, almost as though she jested with the man, Jon could not put out of his mind the look she'd given him.

Having little else to fill his embrace, Jon picked up the dragon egg and called Ghost to hill. Wise enough for his years, Ser Jaime began ascending the stairs, no further words leaving his lips. Jon wondered how much of the episode would make it back to his father's ears. It was not beyond his grasp that the Spider had little birds scattered about the kingdom, nor was he ignorant to the fact that the Kingsguard member in their midst routinely penned information down for his King.

Nor was Jon in anyway put out by these happening. Much as he loved his mother, she was not entirely within her rights to demand what she did of his father. Whatever her beliefs, she must know it was impossible to remain separate from her husband for the rest of her natural life, baring his agreement. And his father had been clear enough in letting her know he made allowance for the recent loss they'd suffered, not for his mother's wishes necessarily.

Shaking his head at the thoughts assaulting him, Jon glanced down at the direwolf ambling up the stoats after him. Assured that he'd not lost the beast, he turned his attention upon the light flooding within from the entrance. They had almost reached the surface.

At the great doors his uncle waited, a worried expression upon his face. "Lyanna, whatever were you thinking?" he demanded of his sister, taking her from Ser Jaime with practiced motions. His mother sighed, but gave no answer, and simply rested her head against the man's shoulder, a mark of trust she had not afforded to the knight. His uncle's eyes fastened to the egg he cradled. "I expect my lord brother shall love to hear of this latest scrape."

Which Jon suspected was not untrue, but neither would it provide Lord Stark with any manner of entertainment. As far as he knew, his uncle would simply see the latest finding in the crypts as another problem to worry about. He knew well enough such an occurrence would bring no one any benefits. His mother's gift was a double-edged sword.

A dragon egg was all good and well. Claiming it since it resided in her girlhood home might even be accepted as just. However it brought about the rather troubling fact that the egg he held was only one, and there were enough Targaryens alive that one small object could become a catalyst for war and conflict. Aegon would doubtlessly like an egg of his own. Rhaenys could easily claim possession by Dornish law, backed by the ever-maddening and incessantly pressuring Dornish faction bolstering the King's ranks. And then his uncle Viserys might ask that the egg be placed with him, might be even attempt to hatch it since his travels to Essos had provided him with more than enough connections to aid in such an endeavour. Aunt Daenerys was not interested in politics and ruling, but the Seven knew no one ever refused power.

The worst, however, was his own uncertainty. As he assisted with carrying his mother to her chambers, Jon considered his sire's ability to manoeuvre his way about court. Ruling was ultimately about making the right sacrifices. If he thought for even a moment that a calcified dragon egg would gain him the upper hand with one of his rivals, there was no doubt in Jon's mind that his possession would be stripped away from him and gifted to awaiting arms.

If there was one thing he and his mother were in agreement over was the inviolable nature of personal property. What was his was only his by whatever virtue he'd obtained it as long as the means were fair. Was that not one of the pillars holding up the wretched realm they all lived within?

"Jon," his mother called, breaking his concentration. She beckoned him forth. "I want you to do something for me. There is an unfinished letter in the small solar. Pen the rest of it for me and have the maester send it as soon as possible."

"Have no worries, mother. I shall carry out your order with utmost haste. You mustn't concentrate on anything other than your health." He took hold of her hand and gave it a small squeeze. Her fingers were still cold.

It was his uncle that entered her bedchamber, leaving both himself and Ser Jaime in the antechamber. The knight gave him an inquisitive look but seemed in no hurry to abandon his post. "I doubt you are needed here, ser," Jon ventured, inclining his head in recognition of the man's earlier services. "Neither of us, I reckon, is knowledgeable in the healing arts."

"One of us, however, is sworn to guard the lady. I imagine her temper shan't be improved if her orders are not carried out and you, Your Grace, I perceive to be in no danger." If only Ser Jaime were not as self-possessed. Jon bowed out lof the impeding conflict. He hadn't the necessary state of mind to battle the man.

He turned around, nearly stepping on the curled up ball at his feet. Ghost jumped to his feet and ran to the side, apparently much more alert that Jon would have given him credit for. It was only in the hallway that he came across his noble uncle, rubbing his forehead, as though in deep thought. His eyes too fell upon the dragon egg which Jon held before him. It was not interest he detected, however, but fear.

"Where did that come from?"

"According to my lady mother, the crypts. Uncle, she says there may be more eggs down there." What would have been the sense in delaying? Sooner or later, he would find out. Best to get the help he needed and see to clearing the rubble away. "I would be much obliged if men could be found to aid in restoring the lowest level. It is crumbling. And should a woman like my mother take it into her head to run about that place, the Mother only knows what manner of trouble might accept such courtship."

"I gather your lady mother is in her chambers?" There was a look about the man's face that he did not quite like. "Master Luwin has been summoned by one of the servants. I understand her pride was injured. And possibly the child she carries. There was blood."

"The midwife from the village then," his uncle muttered.

Jon had naught to say to that. A nod was his answer before he moved past his uncle, more than certain his lady mother would have her hands full for the time being. He was going to complete his own tasks, fulfilling his promise before he repairs to her chambers.

The chamber she referred to as the small solar was an adjacent space to the lord's solar, fitted with a writing table and a couple of shelves. It had been in use during his lady mother's stay as for some reason she claimed she could see to the tasks performed in this chamber nowhere else. If her brother thought it strange he never said it, unlike the man's wife who was not half as shy about the matter. His mother's reply was always been vague.

The door was unlocked, though, for all her secrecy. Whatever was stopping Catelyn Tully from entering, 'twas not of physical nature. He entered, sitting down behind the desk. The dragon egg was placed to his right upon the table, Ghost burrowed beneath the desk, stretching across his feet.

Jon picked up a hazapardly discarded quill and dipped it into the still-uncorked inkwell. Fat black droplets dripped from the thin tip as he raised the instrument from its resting place. He eyed the parchment upon the table. It had been neatly folded, indicating that his mother had written, as was her custom, a description no lengthier than a few lines. The bare bones. Unlike her, Jon was more verbose in his correspondence , might be as a result of his quieter nature.

Although it was no business of his what manner of relationship his parents entertained these days, he could not help but read the terse, sparse lines. There was much to be gleaned about a person by their correspondence. Besides the obvious information, there were the subtler hints, minute details pointing to such knowledge that was not easy to come by. Without a moment's hesitation, he devoured what little he could find in his mother's address.

 _There is very little to impart which might cause you any surprise. Your son and I dwell in comfort amid my kin and all is as it ought to be. I hope you remain in good health, as well as your heir and firstborn. I keep you all in my heart and in my prayers and have fonf hopes that we shall see each other soon._

 _I wish you well for the interim._

 _Your wife_

If there had ever been a grand passion between his parents those fire had been long since doused. Not precisely disappointed, Jon put the tip of the quill a short distance away from his mother's last line and in a hand much neater recorded the events of the day.

Once satisfied that all pertinent details had been included, he debated with himself whether to allot a line to the state his mother found herself in. By the time the letter reached King's Landing the matter would no longer be pressing in nature. Yet to send word before he knew the outcome would not suffice either.

Deciding against sealing the note for the moment, he blew softly upon the still-drying ink and glanced down at Ghost. "If only I could be as you, unknowing and uncaring of the world's dangers." Like any child confused at a single glimpse of a complex and complicated world, the direwolf cocked his head to the side, and lolled out his tongue in the manner of beasts. Reaching out, Jon scratched behind his ear, enjoying the way the little creature burrowed into him. There was something about such unconditional affection that touched him.

A knock on the door chased away his mood. He called within however lingered on the other side and greeted his cousin with half-relief and half-frustration when Robb Stark stepped within. He did not need the boy's concern, but accepted it in good faith. "I heard the maester is with your lady mother. Her Grace had a nasty fall?"

"Maester Luwin is indeed with my lady mother. We were in the crypts." Robb nodded and approached the table. "Alysanne's death hit her hard. I should not wish for her to lose another child so soon after her."

"She might not. You know my aunt, Lady Lysa. She bled throughout her pregnancy from the slightest of efforts and it was thought she would lose the babe. But she has not; her son is alive and thriving." Lysa Tully, however, was quite a different stock from his mother. Jon did not point out as much. "She did have to lie abed until her confinement was over, though." A fate Lyanna Stark would doubtlessly submit to if it meant her child's survival. "Proper miffed she was about that."

Of course, in his heart he hoped it was a case similar to Lysa Tully's, that both mother and child would survive, that the three of them might return to King's Landing together. Hope, however, had a way of twisting expectations. "Your aunt is a lucky woman." At heart a septic, Jon did not put much stock in hope. Faith was an entirely different matter which engendered not only belief, but also a modicum of intelligence. In a sense, a man had to know what to pray for, whereas with hope one could entertain the most ludicrous of wishes and expect a favourable answer from the gods. Such instances had never made much sense to him. Many desires were unattainable.

To beg the Seven that both mother and child make it out unscathed would only set him up for discontent. The Stranger worked by his own rules and there was never any guarantee he would spare mother or child, and occasionally even took both. Such was the way of it; no matter how hard he pleaded and how sweet his entreaties, the matter was out of his hands. Better not to foolishly make such demands.

"Jon, you can talk to me about her, you know. If you want to." His head shot up. He'd not even realised his eyes had drifted from Robb. His cousin still stood.

"It was foolish of her to try riding an untamed beast." What else could be said about the foolhardy girl?

"Might be," Robb shrugged, "but it must have still been shocking to be the one to find her." His cousin finally sat down, apparently unwilling to wait for invitation.

"I should have been there with her. Had I thought to ride out with her," he trailed off, reminding himself of impossible wishes. "Aegon encouraged her to be brave, to take any challenge which might come her way. He means well; but some trials are best left untouched." It was not Aegon's fault that Alysanne stubbornly took to a suggestion made in jest. And yet Jon wished his brother had never opened his mouth. "Her neck was broken. I do not think she was ever in much pain."

Father had ordered the beast put out. A magnificent horse, but one no one was willing to take another chance on. The order might have gone through as well had Jon not begged to have the creature taken back to the stables. The horse was not at fault either.

"You might have allowed His Majesty to avenge her death," Robb pointed out. "Your lady mother surely deserved the closure."

"Were there the slightest chance that my sister would be revived by such an act, I should have slain a thousand horses." The fault lied with him. He'd taught Alysanne to mount and he'd allowed her to ride with him most days. Had he sent her in the company of their fellow sisters, she might have yet lived. "But I've no wish to speak of my dead sister. Rather, feast your yes upon this," he motioned towards the dragon egg, "and tell me if you have ever seen such a wonder."

Relief passed over Robb's features. "I thought you would never ask." He inspected the scales with such care Jon wondered he did not reach out to touch them.

"Mother believes there are more down there." He might have said something similar to the boy's father.

"And what do you think?" his cousin demanded, interest sharpening his gaze upon his face.

"She knew about this one, didn't she? As soon as I am assured mother is well, I mean to scour the crypts. If there are more eggs there, I shall find them." Gods willing, he would have at least two more to satisfy his closest kin. Let them fight over those. "I might need help."

"I might be willing to offer it for the right price." A wolfish grin stretched Robb's lips.

"A turn's worth of night in the arms of that wench you so admired? The red-headed one."


	3. iii - the sweetest of all lies

Viserys laughed, bringing an arm around the whore's waist. He accepted the wine she offered and drank deep from the cup. "And what shall I do with you?" he questioned, thumb stroking over the stone encrusted gold. He kept his gaze locked to Doreah's, a mild smile upon his face. What a foolish girl.

"Anything Your Grace desires," she answered eagerly, blue eyes twinkling with delight at her perceived victory when his hand fell upon her knee, fingers curling over the well-formed bone, over the elegant line. "I wish nothing more but to serve you." And he wanted little else but to tumble her. However, unlike the pillow girl, he had no illusions about the purpose of it, nor was he foolish enough to grow attached.

"Now, Doreah, my girl, is your master not a kind man? Is he not a good host?" He lifted his hand from her knee and pushed back a strand stay of hair, admiring the way firelights played upon her tresses. "What manner of guest would I be if I stole you from his service?" He had no need of a whining mistress trotting at his heels.

Women, for the most part, were trouble. The ones he had no recourse but to endure the sight of proved that. "A very wise guest, I should think," Doreah huffed, throwing her arms about his shoulders and plastering her front to his. Despite her height, she managed to make herself look small and vulnerable. "I would not be much trouble, Your Grace. I shan't demand what cannot be given, nor will I attempt to remain where I am not wanted." She looked up, trying to covey to him sincerity.

He could dismiss her. He could have her beaten for her impertinence. He could do to her whatever he wished. Alas, eh would remain Illyrio's houseguest for some time yet and he was not at all certain he wished to pass the night away alone. With that I mind, he gathered Doreah closer to him, before lifting her up in his arms, chuckling at her shriek and the wine spilling from the tipped-over cup.

"It looks to me as though you shall have to prove your worth," he jabbed lightly. For one brief moment, as she grinned up at him he felt a pang in his chest. But then he recalled the sight of his brother as last he'd seen him, after his lady's departure and he slammed a lid upon the wayward feeling, knocking it back into submission. He refused to tie himself to a woman, any woman, no matter her finer qualities. In the end, if he suffered, he would be alone in that.

Satisfied with that for the time being, he placed Doreah upon the bed and began preparing himself for what would follow. Turning from the sight of the disrobing pillow girl, he shrugged out of his own garments, thanking the Seven for the heat that permeated every corner of the continent, elsewise he might have turned into an ice creature.

Following through with an instinct older than he, Viserys satisfied the fleeting desire, taming the passions. Morning found him enjoying the sleep the wicked, not at all bothered when a servant entered, carrying a laden tray. He peered out through one eye and upon seeing no directions would be needed from him, turned on his other side, hiding away from the pouring sunlight.

"Do you know, Your Grace, that the early bird catches the worm?" he heard his companion's voice and recalled that she would not be easily dissuaded. Viserys groaned into his pillow, thinking for a moment to ignore her existence. That would not help matters though, he decided upon further inspecting the solution.

He could give in. He would hardly be the first man to keep a mistress. Arguably his brother dwelled with one for, abiding with nary a pang of conscience. And Doreah was not half as dangerous as Lyanna Stark. Having none of the woman's wits and liking for useless trinkets and baubles, she would likely be placated with a few coin once he tired of her or found himself ordered into marriage with a carping sow, as one was wont to find in the kingdoms.

He shuddered at the thought, forcing himself to rise. Eyes fastening upon Doreah, he flung away the thin golden sheets covering him and rolled out of bed, unashamed of his nudity as he strode towards her. "Dragons have no need for worms," he spoke softly, walking past her towards the servant holding up his clothing.

It took a few tugs to have the creature allow him his way, but since he'd consistently refused to allow anyone to aid him in clothing himself, this time as well he could do as he wished. "I should enjoy some air."

He washed his face and shook his head at the servant's offer to shave him. Ignoring Doreah's attempt to catch his attention, he made his way through the door. His escape assured. Viserys stifled a yawn before rubbing the back of his neck with vigour. He was growing too old for half the tomfoolery he'd enacted the previous night.

The antechamber stood between him and the hall leading to relative safety from Doreah and her demands and Illyrio and his schemes. He would rather take a walk, as he'd said before, than place himself in any of the two's path. Without further thought, he strode into the hall, not surprised to see Ser Barristan staunchly guarding the door. Ever imposing in his knight's garb, the man had lost little by the thinning line of his hair or its whiteness. The truth was he carried his age well.

"A fine morning, is it not?" he asked by manner of greeting, covering up yet another yawn. He would be doing that with gradually decreasing frequency until midday, he well knew.

"Aye, Your Grace." Ser Barristan nodded for emphasis, keeping his eyes upon him at all times.

"I was thinking he could walk. It would be a pity to spend such a pleasant day indoors." Every day was as sunny as the last. It seemed as though the summer would last a thousand years. The long summer that was awaited by all. Viserys clapped a hand upon the older man's shoulder. "Even you must find aught to enjoy in these parts."

"The wine is very fine," the Kingsguard allowed after a brief pause. "Did Your Grace have a location in mind?"

"I cannot claim to." Just as long as it put a sure distance between him and matters he would rather not pursue at the moment, Viserys was more than fine with it. "I hear the market will be filled with wonders. I, for one, could do with a trinket or two to take back."

There would be no horses or strange beasts. Alysanne would have doubtlessly loved a new creature to add to her collection of strange beasts to parade about and give her father reason to grey before his time. The younger Rhaella took care of her departed sister's pets out of duty rather than love. She was a much milder creature, her sole seemingly to make life as easy for those about her as she could manage. A much too serious child frightened of very much and trusting very little. It had always been a thing of wonder to him that she and not bonded that much closer with her his brother's second son. They were two bird of a feather, after all.

Illyrio's servants offered the use of a litter, which was politely refused and then the use of a guard to which Viserys answered that he could be placed in no better hands than his knight's before, amid many a protest, he left the merchant's estate in search of adventure and a few gifts to take back home.

To his credit Barristan Selmy regarded the whole outing with greater understanding that Viserys thought possible from a man of his experience. "Each age brings its own set of joys," the Kingsguard revealed when pressed to, "and you are not all that different from another man I recall being quite enamoured of indulging in a moment or two of adventuring."

Pausing midstep, Viserys wondered at the implications. Instead of asking for clarifications, he settled for a brisker pace, weaving through the throngs of people. The morning sun cast its glow upon the waking world, insistent and demanding. Merchants were already pushing their carts about, fishwives praising their wares in loud voices. For himself, he watched the procession with passing interest, thinking that he hadn't long yet.

While his brother's last letter had not demanded his return, the words rather implied an impatience which would not be tested lightly. But then Rhaegar had always been stubborn to fault. It showed in his various dealings with the lords of his court, it showed even in his dealings with close kin. Viserys half expected Aegon to rebel against his father's strict control. But that one had too much of his father in him to outwardly display resistance.

Rhaenys was the one more likely to protest for she was not quite as calculated as her brother and prone to following the unfortunate example set by her beloved uncle. The Red Viper had certainly taken his revenge for the humiliation his sister had endured. Of course, he'd likely not stopped to think the woman had been well-compensated for her loss, but then one should not expect miracles.

Delving further into the lively hustle and bustle, he paused every now and again to admire some piece or another, mind still returning to his brother's urgings that he settle his affairs and return to court.

Was it marriage the King had in mind? He'd certainly been afforded more time than Rhaegar ever had. And he'd had leeway enough to satisfy a hundred sons over. Rhaegar had only specified two conditions his potential bride should adhere to. The first was that she could not be of common blood and the second was that she be decently dowered. Having already assured his brother he meant to chase no Jennys about the countryside, Viserys was not awfully concerned in that regard. Sooner rather than later he would return to court and he had a mind to allow Daenerys to come up with suggestions. That girl was running about court; she ought to know which one of the present females would make a good candidate.

And if it came to it, he would simply close his eyes and sign whatever papers his brother put before him. That was easiest, was it not? Certainly very few men of means were handed a partner of their choosing. His brother had only managed to snare the she-wolf because the both of them were utterly mad. And look where that landed him. Reduced to pining after a woman whose concerns were as far from her husband as could be.

With a shake of his head, Viserys continued his perusal. Lyanna Stark might not be a bad woman, or a bad mother, but she was certainly a bad spouse. For whatever reason, her heart was shut away behind thick stone walls as far as her husband was concerned. He recalled the young woman who had arrived to King's Landing in garbs fitting a devout sister. She had smiled to him and looked upon his brother with such warmth that even an innocent such as he'd been was left in no doubt as to where she stood. And he certainly recalled that his brother's joy had been far from feigned in those first moon turns. Even after their firstborn came along, there had been little doubt those two held one another in deep affection.

What had changed?

"Your Grace?" A hand pressed down upon his shoulder. "Are you well?"

"Lost in thought," Viserys chuckled. "I don't suppose you've any idea about what might constitute a good gift for my good-sister?" The Kingsguard blinked. He offered no answer. Viserys sighed; he wondered what the chances of escaping unscathed were if he offered Rhaegar a leash, to keep his wayward companions close, of course. Dare he go so far?

In the end he settled for more conventional gifts, fearful that not all hearts were as well-disposed as his towards a drop or so of silliness. Best not to make his brother's situation any harder than it already was. Not to mention he had no notion of when precisely his good-sister would return. Last he'd heard she had written that she was with child, yet again, and could not be expected to make the journey back. A good enough reason to remain safely sequestered in her brother's keep. Only that knowing his brother Viserys doubted her plan would last beyond the birth of her babe should she attempt extending her stay even further.

And even a saintly fellow like Eddard Stark was bound to tire of the woman's strange ways before long and have her packed off. Which would please his brother; in the end the devil one knew was preferable to the monster one did not. For himself, Viserys knew all manner of dangerous creatures and he was, fortunately, a diligent student of history. Naturally it followed that he would avoid the pitfall of so many predecessors and leave the court to his brother's capable hands.

It was not long after his return that he found himself in the company of Doreah once more. The pillow girl lavished her attention upon him, sweet smiles and bright eyes brought together in a concentrated effort to plead her case, whichever that might be. "Your Grace was gone for so long, I feared I was to be left behind after all," she admonished softly, her meaning clear enough even without the slight pause she added for effect.

"Doreah, Doreah; do you not know that one should not put too much pressure on the person you're trying to convince of doing aught you wish?" The girl gave him such a look that he could not help but chuckle. "A wise woman does not try to run before she can walk."

"A wise woman does not allow an opportunity to pass her by either." She did not force his hand any further though, which was just as well for before long their conversation was interrupted yet again.

To say he was mildly intrigued would be a lie; the moment Ser Barristan announced he was being asked for an audience, Viserys saw his chance. Doreah was sent on her way. "I should like you to remain in this chamber, ser. One never knows, does one, what dangers lurk in these parts."

The Kingsguard offered a vague answer, which might have been agreement. It seemed he had no wasted his time by visiting the temples. Pleased with the outcome, Viserys leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes for but a moment, concentrating on the light sound of footfalls without. They were almost enough to make him doubt he was hearing anything at all. The creak of the door could not be mistaken however.

When he regained his vision an interesting sight awaited him. He'd seen servants of the Red God before. The so called Lord of Light, God of Flame and Shadow, Heart of Fire. A rather pompous name for a rather pompous minor deity whose very name suggested trickery. But then Viserys was not particularly picky. Not at this stage at any rate. He allowed himself a short stretch of lips and accepted the woman's bow with a nod.

"I feel as though I have seen you somewhere before," he commented, eyeing the heart-shaped face intently. "Have our paths crossed before?" She was tall for a woman. He would have remembered someone of her uncommon description, he was sure; but though the sense of familiarity did not dissipate, nor did it deepen.

"It is in the nature of kindling to seek fire, Your Grace," came her answer, her voice surprisingly deep. She did not avoid his gaze, in fact seemed to search for it, holding it with her own. It would be a lie to claim himself undisturbed, yet he could hardly allow this stranger to best him.

"Kindling," he repeated. "I've no time for games. Why did you request an audience?" Whoever this woman was, whatever manner of god she served, she was trouble; that much he could tell with one single look.

"I wish to be of service." A simple, likely answer. "There are things in this world, Your Grace, one could not withstand without divine support. I mean to keep a lantern flickering in the sea of darkness I see ahead. Troubled time are coming."

"There's trouble as long as there's life." Viserys stood. He took a step towards her, more at ease once he towered over her. With all her height, she remained beneath dragons. "That still does not answer my question. Your vocation, whatever it might be, does not necessitate that you serve me, does it?"

"On the contrary, Your Grace, the flames have shown me the path. And I can lead you upon it." How awfully tempting. Viserys turned away from her, catching the Kingsguard's stare with his own. The question in his gaze was met with a slight shake of the head. "I have a story to tell Your Grace."

He laughed, unease settling low in his stomach. Despite the clear warning his knight offered, he could not help but turn back towards the copper-haired woman. "Only children are amused by tales. I am not in need of amusement."

"And you are no child either. Your Grace, it would be wise to listen nevertheless. The tale I bring concerns a great power, dark and cold and long since dead, and yet not and the hero who opposes it." He knew that story.

The one advantage his brother's folly offered was that a Northern bride brought with her enough chilling accounts of the living dead to keep one awake for nights on end. "As I said, I am a little too old for such tales. If that is all, then you may leave." The last he'd listened to tales of the long night he'd been a child in truth, clutching at the storyteller's skirts half-afraid the creaking without the small, dimly lit chamber was caused by strolling corpses. Lyanna Stark had stroked his hair in motherly fashion before assuring him such creatures were the stuff of legend and would not come to bother him.

"I am a learned woman, Your Grace. And more importantly a patient one." She nodded as though to signal she was taking her leave of them. For the time being, in any event. "If you have need of me, I shan't be far." He dismissed her with a flick of his wrist. Ser Barristan followed her.

What a strange creature. He did not like the look of her one bit. It was almost as though the warmth of the copper and red hues hid something beneath them. In before he might come to any manner of decision, a servant insisted upon disturbing him with yet another latter, lately arrived from King's Landing.

The previous letter had not arrived that far back. It must have been written shortly after the other one requesting his return. This one too bore his brother' seal, but within it he found no worlds. Rhaegar had sent him a single piece of a Cyvasse set Viserys knew only too well.

The ivory dragon had been broken in two uneven halves.

This was no mere request on his brother's side that he conclude his travel and return. He studied the bigger half of the ivory piece, running the pad of his thumb along the carefully carved lines. "I wonder how far he'd be willing to go." Might be he should test his brother's mettle.

Even if it was only smoke and ash, it was better than anything Pycelle had to offer, assuming the old fool knew not to endanger the she-wolf. He'd bet see about preparations. Viserys tucked away the letter and placed the two halves of the dragon in his inner pocket. If ever there was an exciting time to be alive, this had to be it. Dorne would rejoice, the North would divide itself along old lines and his brother would have his hands filled. The prospect of returning home was sounding better and better with every passing moment.


	4. iv - the sound of drums

Aegon gave a low grunt as his brother's weight settled in his lap with all the finesse of her hammer stroke. Nevertheless, he anchored the boy against him and made a shushing sound. "But I was quiet," Gaemon whispered, lips pursing in a mutinous little look he'd perfected almost as soon as he could produce sound.

"We shall just have to be quieter then. You don't wish to disturb Alys, do you?" he questioned, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. Aegon carded his fingers through his brother's hair, pushing the unruly strands back with a firm stroke.

Gaemon's pout loosened. He turned towards the marble effigy of his sister. Aegon watched the unmoving carving with minute attention. It was the details of the face which concerned him, chiefly the eyes. A cold slab of rock could never compare with the flashing and twinkling of his sister's eyes. The shape of them was right though, light crinkles just at the corners, as though a threat of a smile lingered about.

The Alysanne before him was about as tall as she'd been in life. He knew father had insisted that the measures be exact. It showed in the long limbs and slim waist. If he stood, she was taller than him on her pedestal.

"Can I still tell her I miss her?" Gaemon interrupted him yet again, tugging on his arm. "If I do it very quietly, she won't mind, will she?"

Gaemon did not truly miss Alysanne. The vast number of years between them had ensured he rarely saw much time in her company and she rarely sought him out outside of the rare moments when mother insisted they sit together. But his brother was a gentle-hearted child. "Aye. She would be glad to know you miss her." Plucking one of the roses he'd meant to put beside her urn, Aegon placed the stem in his brother's hand. "Give her this as well."

The boy buried his nose between the petals and dragged in air. "It smells nice."

It would have looked even nicer in Alysanne's hair. Aegon chuckled and ruffled Gaemon's hair, sending him off with a gentle shove for good measure. He regretted the winter roses had wilted so soon after he'd placed them there, but they would have to make do, it appeared. Then again, if Alysanne had been fussy regarding the mount she rode, she loved all flowers equally.

His brother placed the rose at the effigy's feet and took hold of one outstretched hand, his small fingers wrapping around the slim digits, almost as though he were willing the spirit of the departed back.

Standing from his seat, Aegon walked past the child, into the narrow gap holding the urn with Alysanne's remnants in it. He knelt by his sister's ashes and placed the flowers near her, taking care to let the petals brush against the gold ornaments. "The horse is doing well. Father won't let anyone ride it, of course, but he'd being fed and cared for."

He imagined, for a moment, the look on Alysanne's face whenever she found something she disagreed with. "Rhaella won't enter the stables either. She said she would care for every other beast, but not that one." Might be he should go further into detail, but Aegon did not think she would care to be burdened with so many trivial matters.

"Jon will no doubt come see you once he returns." Instinctively, he reached out, stroking along the jagged lines, considering the design. He withdrew. "I have to go. You know Gaemon is about as patient as a colt on his first legs." He withdrew.

True to description, his brother had wandered off, staring with undisguised interest towards the other narrow gaps; his curiosity carrying him from one entrance to another. Aegon smiled, recalling a day long past when he and Jon had done the same. It had been summer and father had decided that they ought to learn before long that some truths could not be avoided.

He'd been amazed that an entire human body could fit in such a tiny container. In his mind, for some reason, great kings and queens were of impressive proportions; in other words, of sizes to match their worth. He even betted Jon they would find bones the size of a human arm. Of course his brother had gone along with him and they'd even tried to unseal one of the urns.

Father's chagrin had been blatant that day. Naturally, the septon serving that day had treated the moment with appropriate levity, which in turn transformed the King's vexation to amusement. They were not even lectured. A happy ending to their somewhat morbid adventure.

"Gaemon, come out from there," Aegon urged his sibling, holding one hand out. "I promised Rhaella I would have you back in time for lessons."

A groan rang through the hall. "I don't have to listen to her." His brother emerged from the darkness nevertheless. "Lessons are boring." The complaint resonated with Aegon's own experience. It was one thing to broaden one's knowledge on one's own. Maesters cramming useless notions in one's head, however, was an entirely different kettle of fish.

He should not be telling Gaemon as much though, else the little imp would take it into his head to bedevil his poor tutors. Rhaella swore she didn't know what to do with the tyke half the time. "Have I ever told you the tale of the falconer and his pet?" The child shook his head. "Well then, come sit here and I will tell you."

Clearly excited at the prospect of hearing a tale, Gaemon hurriedly climbed into his seat and leaned in, as though to better hear the story. "A long time ago, there lived a man. He dwelled alone in his humble home, except for one other creature he kept for companionship. A mighty falcon. One day, the falconer took out the bird, allowing it its flight. But unlike their many past outings, the falcon did not return back to his master until well into the day. Our falconer, tough concerned, said little. And the next day, the creature woke him early and flew away, failing to return until sundown. On the third day, the falconer decided he would sit atop his hillock and watch for the falcon. Upon returning to his home, he found the roof had caved in and walls crumbled. Only then did he understand that the eyes of his falcon, superior to his own, has seen the danger and attempted to warn him."

"But we don't have falcons," Gaemon frowned. "Alys said not to touch hers." He kicked his heels against the wood of the bench, nose scrunching in silent worry. One of the traits he'd observed in his younger siblings was their love for tales and the nearly obsessive necessity to grab bits and pieces of said stories then apply them to their own life. The younger ones, much like Gaemon, tended to miss the forest for the tress, which was to be expected. They were just children.

"I am certain Alys would not mind our using hers." One day he would understand, and when he did, Aegon expected it would only lend itself to the bettering of the kingdom. "What say you, young Gaemon, would you not enjoy relieving Rhaella of her burden and taking care of Patches?" The irritating bird would doubtlessly peck the poor boy's fingers a few times before they got used to each other, and one could hope that happened soon enough. He ruffled his brother's hair again and gave him a small smile.

"Then Patches would be mine, aye?" The more he knew of responsibility, the better. "I will take care of him. If Alys doesn't mind."

"Why not ask her?" That suggestion was enough for Gaemon to comply. Left to watch an approaching septon, Aegon stood to his feet, wondering why it was they were being sought out. The apologetic expression on the man's face gave him some inkling as to what was going on.

"Apologies for intruding, Your Grace," the septon began, glancing towards the younger Targaryen with a smidgeon of unease. "I come from Sunspear bearing greeting from Her Grace, Lady Elia and your uncle, Prince Doran."

"I hope the both of them remain in good health," Aegon returned dispassionately. "It has been some time since I've had word from either."

"Indeed, Your Grace, both your mother and your uncle are in good health. As for word, I was tasked with delivering this." Extracting a sealed letter from his sleeve, the septon held it out with great care, stare travelling to where Aegon knew his brother was. "For Your Grace."

He accepted the letter more out of filial duty than any desire to hear from his kin. It was not as though Aegon was displeased with receiving knowledge of that corner of the kingdom. Yet the many plots he had had to stop thus far were not endearing him to the notion of further contact with his mother and uncle.

"Should Your Grace wish to send a reply, I am your humble servant," the man said.

Aegon gave a slow nod before dismissing the septon and retaking his seat. He broke the seal and unfolded the letter, knowing he was safe enough. Gaemon returned to him, presumably with a reply from their sister. "What is that?"

"A letter," he answered. "What did Alys say?"

Brightening at the question, Gaemon vigorously nodded his head. "She said I can have the falcon, but I must take good care of it." Grabbing onto his sleeve, the child tugged with unexpected force. "Will mother allow it?"

"We will talk to her, have no fear." Lady Lyanna had never struck him as particularly unreasonable. Sure enough, Alysanne's abrupt departure had shaken her and might be engendered within her a more pronounced streak of protectiveness, but even so that had manifested in her retreating from father's court rather than imposing restrictions of her children. "Jon will help as well. Now, see if you can find Baelor the Blessed for me, will you?"

Though a murmur of protest left the boy's lips, Gaemon acquiesced in the end, taking off on slightly unsteady feet. Aegon motioned for a young septon passing by to follow in his brother's wake. "Keep him occupied for a while."

"Aye, Your Grace."

His orders carried out, Aegon returned his attention to his mother's correspondence. A lot of it was ordinary enough in nature that he found himself thankful. His pleasant disposition might have even lasted in spite of one or two questionable choice words were it not for the last few lines.

 _I have heard it said His Majesty was sorely vexed with that woman. Is it possible that he considers abandoning her in her brother's care? Surely, she finds Winterfell a suitable home for herself. Do let me know, in what manner His Majesty wishes to proceed._

His lips compressed in a thin bloodless line as he crumpled the letter into a tight ball of wrinkles. The momentary anger flared to unimaginable heights. His sister was dead. Alysanne had been given to the pyre and his mother's sole concern was whether the King had yet to tire of his wife. He might have laughed, except that he was bound to attract attention in so doing.

The letter could not have arrived at a more inopportune moment. Nary a fire was nearby for him to relieve his frustration. Aegon shoved the mangled missive in the inner pocket of his doublet with a sound of disgust. He debated upon whether he should write his answer as soon as he arrived to his chambers, but decided, quite firmly, against it. No matter his personal beliefs, he was the Crown Prince and the Dornish faction did have its uses. Proper words had to be used, strung together craftily.

He would not mention the letter to father either. The man was wretched enough as it was. If only Lady Lyanna could find it in herself to forgive and forget. Whatever words had been spoken between them, Aegon would be willing to bet his own life that his father loved the woman. But even such a love could be stretched thin over years and disputes and misunderstandings.

Yet Aegon did not understand it. Not at all. Why would father allow her to leave in the first place? She'd been sick, barely even getting better. It could be argued she hadn't even been in her right mind. Having lived a certain number of years, Aegon well understood that two people very much in love could easily fall victims to their own weaknesses and misgivings.

Moreover, he'd sent her off with Ser Jaime. Ser Jaime whom he'd heard Lady Lyanna praise on numerous occasions. The same Ser Jaime whom the court whispered was much too close in age to the Queen, much too close for it to be mere duty, and in the end simply much too close. Courtiers were simple people; but they had a knack for unearthing secrets. And if he heard the rumours, so had father and Jon. Rhaella he was not certain about, but she always made a point of keeping their mother company whenever Ser Jaime was assigned to guard them.

It all came back to that blasted tourney. Ser Jaime had been knighted at the very event where father met Lady Lyanna. The lady and the knight were indeed very close in age, a year or so apart if he had his dates right, and, well, Aegon was not blind. Ser Jaime certainly had his charm and he trusted that if he were a woman, he too would give a sigh or two as he'd seen Rhaenys do. But was that enough to sway Lady Lyanna? Did she contemplate the man with a woman's eyes, or had she simply forged an easy camaraderie with a peer who just so happened to be a Kingsguard?

It would be a lot easier if he could at least ascertain Ser Jaime's interest in Lady Lyanna. At least that would be a start. However, whenever he gained the courage to do so the whole world conspired to put an end to his investigation. Which left the lot of them, truly, nowhere. Aware he would not find the answer in Baelor's Sept, Aegon chose to return home with Gaemon in tow, entertaining the child throughout their ride back.

Several servants waited to greet them in the courtyard, but among them were two of his sisters. Rhaenys and Rhaella , one had come for him, the other for the child, and he very nearly wished one of the two away at the moment. Nonetheless, he hurriedly dismounted, placing Gaemon in Rhaenys' arms.

"If you would be so kind, sister. I must ask Rhaella something," he told the eldest, contriving to forge a convincing smile.

"But, Aegon, I have been waiting all day to speak to you," Rhaenys complained, clearly dismayed. "A servant can take him to his lessons." She put Gaemon down. The child looked between the three of them.

"Gaemon will miss his lessons if you do not hurry," he stated simply, before taking Rhaella's hand and placing it upon his arm. "Would you care for a walk in the gardens?"

"I should love to take a walk with you anywhere, brother," his sister answered glibly, her flattery indicating her current mood. There was a high chance she would accommodate him if he approached her right.

Wasting not a moment longer, he marched the both of them to the gardens, leading the way to a secluded part which constituted Lady Lyanna's little walled corner. A secret garden for a secret plot; how very fitting. "Has your lady mother written?" he questioned without preamble.

"A reply to father? I do not believe so. I have heard naught in any event." She worried her bottom lip between two rows of small teeth. The delicate bite reddened the skin where she applied pressure.

"To you." If she thought she could misdirect him so easily, she had another thing coming.

"How mistrustful you are. She has not written to me except to say that they'd arrived well and to give me some instructions should the children need me." She was not far from being a child herself, Aegon considered, one-and-ten. "Jon wrote to tell me how he enjoyed our uncle's hospitality."

"I do not like this. She has to return soon, Rhaella. Elsewise, we only give fodder to gossips." Something dark flashed in her eyes and she bit harder on her lower lip. Indents marred the skin when she released the abused flesh. "The danger is not only for her; Jon and you, and the rest of the children."

"Father trusts her, Your Grace." She drew back, almost as though she sought an escape. "He will never believe her guilty of aught she hasn't done."

"What does he believe her guilty of?" If it were him, he would simply take care that Ser Jaime became a non-issue. A dead man was a man who caused no trouble after all. Alas, the situation was delicate. She turned her face from him. "Don't do that. I want to help you."

"A wise man does not step between husband and wife."

"And a wise woman does not let a marriage fall apart," he retorted.

"I do not have all the details," Rhaella warned, her brow furrowing. "And there are some bits of information I find at the very least questionable." He nodded. Something was better than nothing. Anything was better than nothing. "Do you recall when the accusation was bandied about that our mother had practiced witchcraft to entrap father? Well, it seems it was more of a promise than a spell."

"And that is the cause of all this?"

"Apparently. Uncle Viserys told me that he once heard father and Ser Dayne speaking of this promise. Ser Dayne asked father whether he even knew what he truly needed. I surmise she must have promised to give him what he needs."

"What does he need?" He knew the answer though. Aegon refused to believe that such a reason had poisoned the well.

Rhaella glanced down at the ground, one foot giving a small kick. "What all Targaryens need."

"That's ludicrous," he raged against her assessment. "Have you seen father with Gaemon? Does that strike you as a man displeased with his lot?"

"I am not mother, Aegon." She was right, of course. Whatever Rhaella thought was indicative of her opinions, not of mother's. "Despite her promise Visenya died within a year of her birth and then Aelyx as well. I think Alys was the last straw for the both of them and every little bit of frustration came pouring out."

"And Ser Jaime?" He held his breath, catching Rhaella's gaze with his own.

"Just an ugly rumour as far as I could make out." She took hold of his hand. "Your uncle is not helping matters." Aegon could do little but nod. "Can you not write to the Princess? Surely she would not refuse a request from you."

"That is not how any of it works, though, I suppose it does you credit that you are so very trusting." There was no use in burdening her with more knowledge than strictly necessary. "I wish I could say mother accepted the loss gracefully and was contented with some day being the King's mother."

Rhaella's shoulders drooped. "You need not say more. I understand." Her forlorn expression pierced him. In an effort to console her, Aegon wrapped her in his arms, patting her back gently.

"I need you with me on this, Rhae. You and Jon and me, we can solve this if we put our minds to it." He felt her arms hug back, her hold firm, almost as firm as he believed Lady Lyanna's hold was on their father. If he had the right of it, they could, at least, bring some closure to the whole situation.

"I am." A simple enough answer. Aegon believed her. Rhaella pushed away from him gently, allowing their eyes to meet once more. "I wish they would just let us live as other siblings do." Her lips lifted into a pale imitation of a smile. "A house divided against itself cannot stand."

It was often the case that Alysanne's more flamboyant personality cast her younger sister into shadow. Aegon would be lying if he said he'd not granted the other more attention for the simple reason that Alys had walked through life as though she attended a banquet at every moment; she had been pretty and happy and unmarred in ways Rhaella was not. For she, like he and Jon, chose to lift the world onto her shoulders.

"We are of the same flesh and blood." Even as he spoke he knew countless siblings had fought before for thrones. "I trust you."

She finally let him go as he did her. They widened the space between them and gave each other a decisive nod.


	5. v - valiant efforts

Poor knowledge of carpentry translated into a somewhat lacklustre understanding of what precisely it was to estimate the time it would take to complete a task. Jon accepted the failing with a flicker of annoyance and sat down upon the bed's edge, eyeing the sleeping woman as his hand pressed down upon her shoulder. Unfortunately, the pressure was not quite enough to wake her.

"Mother, come now; you mustn't sleep the day away." It was the blasted draught the maester had made for her. Rousing her was growing more and more difficult. On the other hand, witnessing her pain when she was conscious was no amusing thing either. Yet she needed to be awake for him to speak to her.

Her eyes opened slowly, as though the effort was too much to undertake. The lids fluttered for a brief moment before they parted and her gaze focused upon him. His mother produced a soft sound, a dull sort of sigh which reverberated between the two of them before vanishing into thin air. "I am awake." A hand came up to press against her temple. "I do believe these potions are not best suited to put me to sleep, after all. My head is pounding."

"Are you feeling well, mother?" He placed his own hand upon her forehead, feeling for any sign of a fever. He found little to inflame his fears. "They tell me the changes I asked for in the wheelhouse are almost done."

"Changes?" Jon frowned. Sleep must have addled her. The maester had confided in him that at times those who took such potions suffered a sort of confusion. And she'd only been taking it for a few days. It did not bode well for the rest of their stay.

"For us to return to King's Landing." Much as he enjoyed their stay, he would feel a lot more comfortable knowing her in the care of masters for whom he could vouch. Jon moved her hand away from the side of her face. "I asked for the benches to be removed so you may lie down comfortably. It is best for the babe that you do not ride."

It would be best for the babe that she not move at all. Jon was starting to believe the creature deserved very little of the care mother poured over it for all the trouble it caused. "The maester thinks that even at its most comfortable the journey would prove uncomfortable, but, lady mother, surely we have what we came for."

"You are in such a hurry to return." She smiled, her confusion palpable. Nevertheless, no questions regarding his intentions were posed. "Have you received word from your father?"

"Nay, mother. The crows do not fly that fast." Had she forgotten that as well? Gently, he helped her up, pulling one of the pillows so she might rest against it comfortably. Did she want to hear from father in the first place? Jon patted her hand gently. "We managed to clean the lower levels of the crypts." Which was what he'd come to tell her in the first place. It was a much more comfortable subject.

Mother's head shot up at the sound of that. "How many?" Jon pursed his lips, not precisely taken aback by the thin strand of anxiety she heard buried beneath the candid anticipation.

"Three. A perfect number by all accounts." The number of magic and ancient songs. The woman's reaction was to frown, which Jon had not precisely anticipated. "There were five in total but the fallen pillar managed to somehow crush two. I expect the sheer weight caused the shell to crack inwards. It does not seem to be that case that a weapon was used of any of the two."

"That's not right. The calcified shell should have protected the egg." She placed her hands in her lap, fingers curling around the sheets. "Are you certain it was the pillars?"

"What else could it be?" He dearly hoped an implausible suggestion was not coming. Jon prepared himself, nevertheless, for the occurrence.

"Could they have hatched?" It was his turn to frown.

"That is not possible, mother. You said it was during your childhood that you found the egg you gave me. How could you have wandered around and missed a dragon, had any of these hatched?" He stood from his seat, pacing back and forth, along the length of the chamber. "Even a newly hatched dragon, according to what we know, should be at least the size of a rat. And we do not have any difficulties with spotting those."

"But Jon, the last ever attempt to bring them back ended in a tragedy. Dragons need fire, aye? There was never a fire in the crypts as far as I know and trust me, any such event would have been mentioned." Which made sense. Jon shook his head in silent dismay.

"Some of the graves have holes in their walls, lady mother." Even good stonemasonry work sometimes failed. "Perhaps the answers are not there simple because we have not looked for them."

"Do not disturb the dead. Those graves have been sealed for a very important reason, my son. You would be well advised to leave the departed to their sleep." Her fingers twisted the quilt tightly around her fingers and his mother presented him with the bone-white sight of her face. "Whatever the mystery between the broken eggs, if the answer is not apparent, we must simply move on. Promise me, Jon."

"Very well, lady mother, I won't touch the graves." The tension is her shoulders mellowed. "What shall we do with the other two eggs?"

"Your father will have the final say on that. I assume he will simply place them with the rest of the Targaryen trove." He swallowed the words of protest crowding upon the tip of his tongue. "I know that look. You cannot keep all three of them, son."

"I have brothers and sisters. And the eggs were in Winterfell. Does that not say aught?" It was more the principle of the matter. "Father would listen to you, if you wished to speak to him upon the matter, lady mother."

"Forsooth I shan't. You know very well what I think of matter of the realm." He continued to pace, yet his steps slowed. Presumably that gave his mother yet another reason to chastise him. "Aegon is your father's heir, Jon. And for good reason. The body needs both a head and a heart, but can do little with a head and no heart or with a heart and no head."

Unable to help himself, Jon chuckled. The bitterness filled him, twisting into an ugly thing. "Lady mother, I was not born to be a heart anymore than I was born to be a septon. Give that honour to someone else. Anyone else."

"Your father wanted to name you Jaehaerys." Jon did not pause midstride, but instead turned on his heel, giving the woman his back. He watched the door, considering whether he could make an escape before mother had Ser Jaime fetch him back. "The Conciliator bore the same name and your great-grandfather after him. Both were good, righteous kings. Men worth admiring."

"Yet I am Jon and not Jaehaerys. Was I named for Jon Waters then?" He heard her laughter and frowned, very nearly turning on her. "You might have done me the favour of naming me Daemon. At the very least the Martells would have reason to worry then."

Cloth rustled behind him. "That is a horrible thing to say." Unexpectedly, warmth spread against his back. His mother's arms pressed down upon his shoulders, her weight forcing him to push to the side in order to regain balance. "Aye, Aegon is named after a great conqueror. He was named with the throne in mind above all. But you too are named after a king."

Concern corrupted the core of anger mounted at the forefront of his attack. Jon tensed, hoping that he would be strong enough to keep them both from falling. "The Neck yet belonged to the Marsh kings in the days of King Jon. Not long into his reign, his realm was beset by sea raiders. Though the foe numbered less than Jon's army, they had superior weapons. The King's first attempt to drive them out ended in a bloodbath, with his own army nearly halved. The head would have counselled surrender. Yet he took the broken men he was left with and called upon every single creature capable of bearing arms, and mounted another attack. He built Wolf's Den to honour that victory."

Unable to resist her urging, Jon turned around. Mother cupped his face between her palms. "Jon Stark is nowhere near as well known as Aegon the Conqueror. He is a mere King of Winter whose name might have well been forgotten were it not for a thoughtful Stark who carved the name at the base of his effigy and the record kept at Winterfell. Nevertheless, it is to men such as him that you and I owe our lives; to men who in times of hardship know that reasoning does not always provide a good answer."

She stroked his cheek gently. "You will never take the Iron Throne, my love, not because you could not; I know the man I raised, if you truly wanted to, you would find a way to it. Even so, know that I will not accept that of you."

"Then what am I to do with the rest of my life. Kick my heels and wait for some fool to come a-raising?" He could feel his control crumbling. "Aegon will have his throne. Father has his heir and you have your wish. What do I have?"

"You will know when the time is right." He pushed her hands away from him and took a step back. "Jon. Have some patience."

"I have been patient," he protested loudly, forgetting for the moment that the chamber was guarded. "You bring me here and put a dragon egg in my arms, but claim I am to follow in a Stark's footsteps. All my life you've had me play second fiddle to my brother; I am not to outshine him in any manner, else it might incite the envy of others, you say. But what if I want that? What if, just for once, I want father's praise as well?" He did not even realise he'd raised his voice so far above normal until the last words reverberated in his own ears.

His mother stepped towards him, lips parting as though to answer when a small cry broke the tense silence settling between them. On instinct, he rushed forth, catching her by the elbows, yet the fatigue along with her added weight sent the both of them to the ground. Fortunately, he had the presence of mind to cushion her fall. His chest filled with pain, vision flashing white.

The door opened with a screeching sound, followed by the tiny noises of metal gliding along metal. Jon caught a glimpse of gold and green before his sight blackened and his mother's weight was lifted up. He dragged in mouthfuls of air, slowly regaining his lost senses as the knight's voice captured his attention.

"It would be better if Your Grace kept to her bed," the slow rumble held aught almost mocking about it. "'Tis dangerous to tempt fate." Jon stood up unassisted. He watched the man and women. "Neither of us wants to be on the receiving end of the King's wrath."

"Very well, ser. Say no more." She tugged the covers over herself, covering all in sight. "If you would be so kind, I should like to rest a bit."

Ser Jaime accepted her answer with a sharp nod. He turned to Jon and gave him an expectant stare. "Your Grace, your cousin was looking for you. He said you might wish to see him once your other business is at an end."

In other words, he ought to find himself some occupation outside his mother's chambers else he would have the man's aid. Jon clenched his teeth against the wave of annoyance and crossed his arms over his chest mutinously. "Robb can wait."

"Your Grace." A chill ran down his spine. Jaime Lannister was an impressive man; not an imposing one, but certainly someone whose striking appearance could not easily be put out of mind. At times though, a spark in his gaze reminded Jon that in spite of his appearance, Jaime Lannister was the youngest knight to have taken the white and certainly did his position justice. He'd seen him and Ser Arthur clash in the courtyard. "Your cousin is waiting."

A brave man would have dismissed the words. A suicidal man would have stepped around the knight. Jon, however, proving once again he was the head and not the heart, retreated to the safety of the hallway with a murmur upon his lips. Ser Jaime followed, his footsteps heavy and firm, almost as though we was warning Jon against any folly. Once without, he met the man's stare. "Has it occurred to you, ser, that you've no power over me?"

"His Majesty tasked me with protecting your lady mother. I am simply following orders." The knight's gaze fell to the ground. "After she has rested, she may wish to speak to you again. If that is the case, I shall retrieve you."

"Father placed my mother in your care, not me." His brazen response was met with an indifferent shrug. And even that he considered a mistake given what he'd heard. Less so what he'd seen. "Might be you should consider that the greatest danger to her at the moment has naught to do with her current condition."

"Whatever is between you and your lady mother, Your Grace, it has naught to do with me. I am simply here to ensure her safety. If there is any danger you wish to make me aware of, you need but say so."

"Ser Darry or Ser Whent would have gladly taken the journey here. You requested it of the Lord Commander."

"I have never seen Winterfell before. I thought it a good enough chance."

"And how are you enjoying it then, ser?"

"'Tis cold."

"Scenery aside, why did you request it of Ser Hightower?" It did not help matters that he was being evasive.

"I already told you my answer, Your Grace." Jon took a deep breath and gave a slow nod, waiting for further words. Ser Jaime, however, had naught else to say.

Given little else to do, he departed, fully intending to find Robb and distract himself, or at the very least pretend that was the case. Jon ambled down the corridors, taking the few turns he needed to reach the lower levels where Robb could be found at the time of the day.

He was not disappointed.

His cousin was in the company of his eldest sister who seemed to brighten at his arrival. Jon gave her a perfunctory bow and squeezed her hand ever so gently when she reached out. "How is aunt?" Sansa asked, turning wide blue eyes upon him. "She must be feeling cooped up."

"She is resting. Might be you would keep her company in the evening. I find I must oversee the final preparations." His cousin frowned.

"So you truly have settled upon leaving? Maester Luwin is skilled and he would not fail his duties. And the gods know he's delivered his fair share of babes. You cannot go amiss if you place your trust in him."

"My gratitude, cousin, but I have made up my mind. All my brothers and sisters were born in King's Landing. I would not break traditions, if it can be helped. And my mother would feel more at ease as well. She is a creature of habit, you know." In many ways, he was not lying to her. "It will be a pity, however to be so soon parted."

"Aren't you exaggerating just a tad? She can't be that interesting." Robb cut in, a grin upon his face. Sansa turned to him with an inarticulate cry of rage. "I am only telling the truth. You know how mother feels about lying, Sansa. I am sure our cousin will agree that one must endeavour to always be truthful."

"I daresay some might place more importance on survival," Jon replied smoothly, raising Sansa's hand for a brief bow, meant to soothe her temper. "I myself think diplomacy the best path. One does not have to lie, nor must one abandon one's principles."

"Such a glib tongue. You'd better stop before my naive sister is taken in by your charm."

"Robb, stop it!" He drew back just in time to avoid having the girl collide with him in her hurry to reach her brother. Thankfully, Robb was served precisely what he deserved by his irate sister.

He chuckled at their banter and took a seat opposite Robb, leaning sloppily against the table. "I expect that will serve as a very important lesson to you, Robb; never challenge your sister."

"How can you say that to me? I've done naught to her." Despite the words, he was still fending his sister off. "If anyone is challenging anyone here, then she is the challenger."

"Have you mush for brains? If anyone is at fault than that is you." She sat down in her own seat, pursing her lips in obvious dismay. "Why can I not have a brother like His Grace?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Someone who is kind and considerate, mayhap." She stared pointedly at her brother. Jon kept his smile to himself. Kind and considerate were two words he would not associate with himself.

"You must be blind," Robb retorted. "Look what you've done to my poor sister. Next she'll be telling us all about how Rickon is a sweet babe who never gave anyone a moment of trouble. As though we're daft enough to believe that."

"I cannot reason with you this day." Sansa rose from her seat. "I will leave the two of you to whatever schemes you must carry out." True to her word, she took her leave in a flurry of skirts.

"I take it you still want to explore the crypt?"


	6. vi - grand returns

Daenerys beamed at the dismounting Jon, eyeing the young man he'd brought along, presumably from his uncle's home. She approached the dusty duo. Meantime she nodded for the wine and to be brought along. "I see you wasted no time returning to us," she commented to her nephew, taking his hand in hers for a warm squeeze. "And you've brought guests?"

"My uncle's heir, Robb," Jon clarified tersely. "Robb, Her Grace Princess Daenerys." He combed his fingers through his hair, glancing away from her towards the wheelhouse having its horses removed.

"Your Grace," the aforementioned Stark heir greeted her, giving a bow to go along with his words. Then Robb Stark followed his cousin's line of sight. Jaime Lannister had dismounted as well, his tall frame hunched over slightly as he invaded the interior of the wheelhouse. "One of my men can do it if you wish."

"Do what?" Daenerys looked between the two men ignoring her. Her nephew had no answer to give as Ser Jaime withdrew, her good-sister in his arms. It took no more than a moment for her to note the woman's drawn face, along with the uncommon pallor and beads of sweat dotting her forehead. Unwittingly she gasped, attracting an audience. "You said naught of her state in your letter."

"You read the letter?" If he thought she would not get her hands of the letters, he did not know her well enough. She gave him a searching look, debating whether she needed to explain it to him. "Tell me you have not spread its contents about court."

"My brother is loving, but kind and tolerant may well be beyond him." Much like his father, Jon responded to her words with a flinty stare. He turned towards his cousin and gave a shallow nod before moving towards the knight holding his mother.

Unwilling to allow her sole source of information escape, Daenerys placed a hand on the Northerner's man arm. "I pray you, ser, can you not tell me what has brought my good-sister in such low spirits. My brother sent her to her kin with hopes she would return to us in better condition."

"Your Grace, you honour me too greatly, I am no knight. However, I shall do my best to satisfy your curiosity regarding my aunt." She cocked her head to the side. While she had never addressed the woman as aught else but Lyanna, it was strange to hear someone else speak of her so informally. But then they were kin, by some manner or another; naturally Lyanna would allow such lax manners. "The lower levels of the crypts collapsed, my aunt having the misfortune of being struck by debris. Initially His Grace wanted to remain in Winterfell but decided against it because of the babe."

"Was the babe harmed?" As a little girl she might not have given such a matter much thought beyond feeling pity for her good-sister's loss, but she was old enough that the horror of the situation dawned upon her. After all, Alys's death was fresh in the mind of them all.

Before an answer could be given though, the conversation was interrupted by the soft bickering between said good-sister and her ever-present guardian. Ser Jaime Lannister frowned at the woman he carried so diligently. "The maester was clear, you are not to strain yourself."

"A few steps will not cause me to keel over," the woman argued, a red flush bleeding into her pallor. "I demand you put me down."

"Lady mother, no more arguments," her son cut in. "Ser Jaime is doing his duty."

"His duty is to the King," Lyanna protested, a sigh making its way past her lips. "And fortunately for me, I am not he." Which was true enough, given however the influence she exerted over her brother, Daenerys did not see any reason to hesitate with her own intervention.

"Good –sister," she greeted, walking past her nephew and placing a hand on the woman's shoulder, "you must not worry us so. Allow Ser Jaime to carry you, for our own comfort if not yours. I shall, meantime, take His Grace to the great hall. His Majesty is yet holding court."

"If you are all set against me." Daenerys breathed out in relief as the knight strode hastily away before Lyanna could change her mind. She remained with Robb and Jon and found her companion was still holding the wine-filled cups. "Have some wine before you greet my brother," she offered, knowing that such directness would not be refused.

If Robb accepted her offering with gratitude, her nephew initially stared down into is cup, swirling the Dornish brew with a subtle hint of distrust clearest in the downward direction the corners of his mouth took. "You need not fear I added to much spice to it."

When finally he did take a sip, his face exhibited slight annoyance. Daenerys smiled innocuously at the reaction, knowing she had encouraged it with a hint more of cinnamon than strictly necessary. "You have outdone yourself," he murmured in the aftermath, handing the still-full cup over. "Lady Agnes, you too are very kind to be waiting upon us in this dreadful cold."

Agnes Bar Emmon flushed red at his words and smothered a giggle before she offered any manner of reply. "Your Grace, 'tis no trouble. Your journey has been doubtlessly long and tiring."

"Speaking off," Daenerys interrupted, leaning closer to Jon, "these brooch has to be repined." Without further ado, she carefully arranged his cloak, brushing travel dust off of him as she did so. "Prince Oberyn participates in the talks of the day."

"As grateful for the warning as I am, I've no intention of doing else but greeting His Majesty and being on my way. As Lady Agnes so aptly observed, my journey has been long and tiring. And my cousin should like his rest as well, I don't doubt."

"I make no complaints over my current position."

"Come along then, best not to keep you too long." She took hold of Jon's arm and dug her nails into the cloth covering his flesh I silent warning. "Agnes, pray extend proper courtesy to our kin, would you?" She turned a smile upon the other young man, taking note for the first time that he was rather handsome despite not bearing any manner of resemblance to her nephew.

Together the four of them made for the great hall. For herself she was content to hang upon Jon's arm, conscious of the many eyes upon the couple of them. "What are you trying to do now?" her companion questioned his hand covering hers for all of a moment before he drew back. Fortunately for her, Daenerys had no time to answer before the crowd parted, whispers mingling in a swirl as they head for her brother and the select group about him.

Aegon broke away first, a grin upon his face. "Took you long enough, brother." He slapped a hand over the other's shoulder.

Jon chuckled, completely breaking away from her. Daenerys smiled at the obvious camaraderie between the two as she listened to the answer. "Shall we make a race of it the next time?"

"I've an image to protect, Jon." They both laughed.

"Where is your mother?" As greetings went, her brother's lacked a certain something; warmth. Daenerys almost gave herself away. She caught the telling reaction at the last moment however and managed to rein in her grimace.

The smile melted off Jon's face, his expression morphing back into the serious mien he sported so oft. "We thought it best to allow her some rest. I expect she is in her bedchamber."

"Rest?" Daenerys gave her brother's heir a sharp look. Aegon pursed her lips at her, but mastered a neutral expression before long. "The road is a long one, after all."

He might have wished to expand more upon the notion but for a shower of gasps and shrieks interrupting him. Daenerys looked behind her in time to see a sleek creature delving through the throng of people, its stark white fur somewhat shocking against the richly coloured cloths it brushed. A similar being of darker colouring advanced upon the other's heels.

"Ghost, to me." The words were not loud, certainly not spoken in an imperative manner. The beast paused in its trotting and perked up before its tail started wagging. It broke into a run until it reached Jon, whereupon it began circling him in excited joy.

"Grey Wind, come here, boy," Robb Stark followed his cousin's example. His pet expressed its delight by leaping onto him.

"What is the meaning of this?" a familiar voice interrupted the moment of silent awe. "These are not the stables where beasts may congregate." Oberyn Martell stepped towards them. A low growl filled the hall, reverberating threateningly as through the premises. The lithe pet at Jon's feet barred its teeth. Ghost he'd called it. Ghost's fur stood on end, his tail held rigid, ears perked up.

Its close kin though not as obvious, padded slightly in front of its master.

"A gift from my cousin," Jon answered, reaching out to pet the head of the wolf, as he nodded towards Robb. "The servants must have encountered some trouble." Under his ministrations, the creature calmed down. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty," he spoke, turning to face his father, "Ghost is not used to such company as abounds here. Given time, I am certain he shall settle down."

"It might be prudent to back away," her brother managed in a quiet serious voice in spite of the smile threatening to shatter the illusion he projected so diligently. Daenerys, never quite as good at the craft as her brother did not manage to smother her own amused reaction. Ghost stared fixedly at the Dornishman. "I assume it will listen should you call it after you."

"He will listen." He proved his point by having Ghost sit at his feet. "However, I am certain we will all feel relieved once he is safely out of the way. Your Majesty, I request your permission to retreat along with Robb."

"You may."

"I will go with my brother," Aegon announced despite the somewhat shocked expression his uncle sported.

Daenerys turned her attention to Robb whom she found to be enduring pangs of confusion. Having questions if her own, Daenerys took possession of his arm and said to her brother, "I will visit with my good-sister as well, if Your Majesty permits."

"Very well." She did not have much time. Rhaegar was naught if not determined. He would see to it that his business was taken care of and then he would head for his wife, of that she was certain. Meantime, she might as well determine the sort of atmosphere awaiting.

"Tell me, Robb Stark, how come you have made the journey to King's Landing with my dear, dear nephew?" she asked as they left the hall, whispering breaking out in their wake. Aegon and Jon walked before him, caught in silent conversation. She could hear Agnes walking behind them as well. A pity Rhaenys had not felt well enough to attend court. Her reaction would have doubtlessly been entertaining.

"The letter explained the reason I was sent here," the young man answered, looking at her as though she'd spoken out of turn. "I understood you were familiar with its contents."

"That is precisely my point; were there a letter I would have been familiar with it. To be perfectly truthful, I am completely in the dark. Take pity on me." They might not look alike, but they certainly offered similar mannerism when trying to avoid a question. Robb Stark avoided her gaze while he cleared his throat. She tugged on his arm. "You have seen Oberyn Martell, have you not? That man is not to be trifled with. I cannot help Jon unless I know his situation."

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace; my cousin will reveal the state of things in his own time. I cannot go against him in this." The trouble with men was that their friendships tended to cement insurmountable boundaries; she would need more time than she currently had to interrogate him.

"I see. Forget I asked," she replied with deceptive calmness. "Although I do not see why Jon does not trust me. He's treating me as though I were Alys." A sharp breath intake was enough to make her realise what she let slip. "Pray do not think me insensitive. Alys was a dear, sweet girl; but she did have an unfortunate tendency of babbling. One could never entrust her with a secret."

"I did not know her, Your Grace, but I do know her brother loved her dearly." Precisely that; Jon hadn't the sense of a gnat when it came to his sisters. "That aside, we cannot speak ill of the dead." His frown put her on edge. Daenerys almost withdrew her hand from his arm, yet decided against it at the very last moment.

"You are correct, of course." Her nephew would invariably come up against their Dornish kin. Inevitably he would turn to Viserys when her brother returned and Viserys would tell her all she wished to know. Was it possible there had been no letter? Certainly, Rhaegar was more withdrawn than Viserys; he could at times be frustrating with his tendency to keep his knowledge to himself. But surely he would tell them, especially considering it concerned Lyanna. And he had seemed taken aback by Jon's claim that she needed rest.

"Do not concern yourself over such matters, Your Grace; Jon will clarify and explain as such as you wish, I've no doubt. He does not mean to keep anything from you, but for the need to find a perfect moment he would likely confess the whole of it."

And would likely be a heap of ashes before that happened. "If you are certain, I suppose I shall have to make do with that." Lyanna might know a thing or two. Stopping midstride, she put her foot down, causing her companion to halt as well. "Agnes, would you be so kind as to make certain our guest is taken care of, I just remembered I promised I would visit with my good-sister."

She took off past her nephews, ignoring Aegon calling after her. That one had best mind his own business. The way he nosed about, he was bound to step on a few toes. It was difficult enough keeping the Dornish faction at bay without having to worry about him as well.


	7. vii - if horses were wishes

Rhaegar expected the sour look his wife threw him as soon as he walked into her bedchamber. Lyanna laid upon the bed, resting against a mound of pillows, her visibly altered form a reminder, bitter in its own way, that the corporeal part was the only piece of her he had. That he could mould, change in appearance and at times bring to his side. He stared contemplatively at the furious little moue she sported and waited for a word. A sign. Any sign. But she held his stare, frosty as winter morning. Some walls not even the best war machines could bring down.

He remained standing before her, mute. As tough struck dumb he could do no more than stare back. He hadn't any anger to wrap protectively around himself. After all, this on he'd chosen with his own hands. Rhaegar took a step forth, the heavy, awkward limbs upon which he advanced presenting themselves as stiff and painful.

It seemed to him that the turns apart had wrought such severe changes upon Lyanna. Her face was not quite the same. She seemed somehow sharper. Like a starved wolf. His mind warned of danger.

She broke first. "Where are my ladies-in-waiting?" Lyanna demanded, eyes narrowing. The hum of strong emotion stretched between them. Rhaegar felt naked before her stare. Not precisely ashamed, but vulnerable nonetheless. He was shieldless in the thick of battle.

"They were not suitable company to you." She cocked her head to the side, lips pulling in a thin line. "They failed in their task." She continued to gaze at him. "There will be other companions, more suitable ones. You may pick whoever you like."

"I liked the companions I had," his wife pressed, dealing him one of those blows she delivered so well. Rhaegar did not wince, though he wished he could. Instead he leaned in to press a kiss to her lips, as though there was not an ocean between them. "Don't do that." He drew back just when she reached out. Her hand stretched towards him, fingers not quite reaching as he took another step back. "Why are you doing this to me? What am I being punished for?"

"Am I doing a thing to you?" he questioned, a tendril of resentment wrapping around him fit to choke the life out of his body. "Is having anything you could possibly wish for a punishment?" A small sigh left her lips. "I was not aware you had a monopoly on grief."

"That is not it. I needed time. We both needed time." The plea in her eyes went unanswered. "But I came back. I am here now."

He huffed. "You would not have returned had you not endangered yourself. I know you, Lyanna. Remember that." He seated himself in a chair, far enough away that she would have to leave the comfort of her bed to reach him. "Would you have even told me about the child, had Jon not forced your hand?"

"What are you insinuating?"

"It is not an insinuation." Lyanna gaped at him and for a moment he thought she might throw over one of her pillows. The red skin of her cheeks deepened colour as time trickled by. "You had best think of your ladies-in-waiting choices; elsewise you will have to make do with mine."

"That is not fair. I stood beside you for all these years; through everything." Their gazes met yet again and held. She was breathing hard, as though putting her sentiment into words depleted her of strength.

"You did not have much of a choice, I suppose." Rhaegar tried not to remember those first few years when they had still been happy together. Although happiness felt like such an insipid name to ascribe to what he'd felt. It was his own fault for thinking he could outrun his own destiny.

"You're wrong. I did have a choice. I could have left whenever I wanted." She was lying. "I should have never told you my thoughts, I can see that now. It will forever come back to that for you." His wife crossed her arms over her chest. "Is it not enough that I came to love you in my own time?"

It was his turn to cock his head to the side as he considered her and her words. "You lied to me."

"That is not true. I never spoke words I did not mean." They were treading old ground. Rhaegar did not suppose he could pull out of the argument at that point.

"That is even worse. I cannot trust anything you do. Do you honestly think the words matter that much?" He stood without meaning to and began walking back and forth. "That is might be the worst of it. I do not know where I stand with you, nor can I trust your reactions to guide me. I forever end up wondering when it is you'll grow tired of playing these games and leave. You have what you want, after all."

"You can lie that fear to rest. I am not leaving." Her insistence should have convinced him. Why then did his mind continue to whisper of betrayal? "The past cannot be changed. I wish I'd known you were a kind man and given you my heart first of all. But that is not how it happened. I did not set out to deceive you and I did not think you'd care. I was wrong. What more do you want from me."

"Nothing. I want nothing from you." He stopped before her. "I no longer want anything from you." She breathed harshly, looking hurt. The words had been meant to cut, but even so he felt rather hurt himself.

"Must you be so cruel? I was young and stupid, I admit that freely. But can you not find it in yourself to forgive youth's folly?" He didn't want her crying. Women and their tears. "I tried my best not to engender any regrets. I never put my children before yours and I made certain truly gave all my duties my very best. And I do love you, you daft man, irrespective of your opinion on the matter."

"Might be I did not want you to be so aware of the divide between our children. Might be I wanted you to not remind Jon he was the second son so very often. Might be I simply wanted to be a father to the boy." To her credit, the intentions behind her actions had not been born out of cruelty. "I listened to you because you are his mother; because I owe you that much. And I have somehow managed to alienate the boy. I do not even know what to say to him for fear of driving him away further."

He touched a hand to the top of her head, unable to help himself at her forlorn expression. Stroking her hair easily he continued, "He resents me. Might be he is right to."

"He doesn't. Jon is simply confused."

"I am glad you always concentrated on him, though. I could be a father to all our other children. That should be enough. But it isn't." His motion stopped midway. Rhaegar sat down upon the edge of the bed, facing Lyanna. "I am tired the ghost of what was. And no matter how I try, I do not think I can forgive." He withdrew his hand.

"I love you." She was trembling so hard, the motions very nearly rocked her. "I truly do."

"And I never stopped." His gaze fell to her rounded stomach. Another child. "I do not know that such is enough though."

"What are you saying?" Worry crossed her features. She was correct to be worried. "Is this about reinstating Elia Martell as your queen?" So she had heard. Rhaegar gazed wordlessly at her, waiting for a reaction. Anything to give him hope. Anything he could hang on to. Despite his words, he would willingly accept a confirmation of his own desires. "Don't. Or at the very least do not send me away." She grabbed hold of his arm, her nails digging into his flesh. "Please."

"I do not go back on my word. I told her when I sent her back to Dorne that she had absolute freedom to do as she wished. If she spent all these years hoping I would change my mind, that is her problem." For a brief moment disbelief threatened his shaken wife's features. "Nevertheless, I am yet undecided about us."

"What?" She was alert yet again. Rhaegar patted her hand.

"Choose your companions with care for they will be those around you until your confinement is over." Shock registered upon her face. "Had you not gallivanted about ruins and injured yourself, I would not have had to do this. As matters stand, I cannot allow you to further endanger yourself or the child."

"Are you saying you will not see me?"

"By and by, lady wife."

"Can you not let go of your anger?"

"Why would I? It's adequate protection." He stood and walked to the lancet, staring without. "Jon wished to speak to me, but before that I do have an important matter to discuss with you."

"Is that not what we have been doing?"

"I have decided it is time we saw to the matter of succession. I have written to Stannis Baratheon and Lord Tyrell. It is my expectation the answers will arrive back shortly and though you will be still resting by the time of their arrival, I should like it if you made yourself available for discussions."

"Lord Tyrell's daughter is the more appealing choice, if we look at prospects. She will bring a full purse with her, I don't doubt. And I have heard she is quite the beauty. Aegon will doubtlessly be pleased."

He interrupted. "Margaery Tyrell is not being considered for the position of Crown Princess. I mean for Jon to wed her."

"He cannot." Rhaegar glanced over his shoulder, seeing her struggle out of bed. "Rhaegar, that is madness. The Reach will never agree." He said naught to that. "As for wedding Aegon to Robert's niece; the poor thing was afflicted by greyscale as a young child. Your son will see it as an insult. Dorne will see it as an insult."

"Relations between the Crown and the Stormlands have been strained for too long a time. The Reach is an ally. There might be Lady Olenna to contend with there, but it is her son who makes the decisions and I trust his vanity more than I trust her powers of persuasion. Lady Margaery weds Jon."

"Jon is too young to wed. Likewise, Stannis' daughter is yet a girl. They could make a match of it when they are ready to settle down." She must know she could not dissuade him. "The Martells are giving us enough trouble as it is. Why would you court even greater dangers?"

"Do not waste your breath, lady wife. I have already decided upon my course of action." She placed a hand upon his arm, trying to tug him away from his spot. He went more out of fear that she might strain herself. "The Tyrells wish to capture a few more pieces. I am not averse to it. However, I am not blind to the manner of man their lord is. He will have his prince, and I will strengthen my support. And Jon will have his allies, if he is smart enough to use this to his advantage."

"What will Aegon have?"

"The throne. A wife from a good family. He will be no worse off. I trust him to be able to look beyond appearances." As reassurances went, he was aware it was not the best. There was, of course, a good chance Aegon would not see beyond the girl's ruined face. And another good chance he would resent his brother's fortune, if one could call it that, in wedding a beautiful woman.

"Your intentions could be misread."

"Do not make yourself ill over it. You must think of the babe."

"I am thinking about all of my children."

"I must be going."

It would be useless to continue. He had come to her because he wished to know where he stood. And he did.

His feet carried him without conscious command. The door to his solar was wide open when he arrived and upon the table stood a small coffer. He recognised the design. The chest had been made for Lyanna as he recalled. He stepped within, for a moment ignoring his son who was standing by the lancet, watching him with care. Nary a word passed his lips as he approached the unmoving object and placed a hand upon the intricately carved wood. He walked around the table to his chair, fingers moving in a stroke along the sturdy material before leaving it all alone.

"Now then, what was so important that it could not wait?" he asked of his son. Jon did not hurry with his answer. He turned towards the world without, glancing up at the clear skies before returning his gaze towards him. Rhaegar did not push further but simply leaned back in his seat, waiting.

"There is aught I have kept secret from you, Your Majesty. Mother and I, we thought it best the revelation come from us." He drew near as well, turning the chest so it might face him. Without looking, he unlatched it and pulled up the lid revealing the contents of the box.

Dumbstruck he stared at the velvet-lined inside, not quite able to believe his eyes. "They were in the crypt. Mother told me she'd found several as a young girl. She hid them and bade her time. I suppose she knew she would have need of them someday. I managed to clear out the lower level, but only these three survived."

He reached for the first one. The scales were cold beneath his fingertips, scratching against his palm. The weight was adequate. Their firmness convincing. He inspected it closer still. Was that the sign Lyanna had spoken so reverently of? Summerhall had been filled with them, or so his mother had claimed before her death. He'd never taken Lyanna to Summerhall though she'd asked it of him. His answer had been that when thing settled, they would go. But she had Jon and then Visenya and the ruse came tumbling to the ground, leaving behind only the tangles of a conflict.

They seemed real enough, he had to give her that. If it was some manner of ploy, it was certainly well put together. "She did not tell me about them. Why?"

"We were unsure of how Your Majesty wished to proceed. I thought it best discretion be exercised. Inevitably we could not keep it from all souls but to the best of my abilities, I tried to conceal the fact as best as I possibly could." Jon picked up an egg as well. He did not scrutinise it quite as hard as he himself had.

"And what would you have me do with them?" Of course, once he made it known, no one would give him a moment of peace. "Might be place them in your keeping?" He placed the egg back next to its brethren.

"I couldn't say, Your Majesty." Too much like his mother, but with nowhere near enough polish to fool him.

"Pick one." He gestured from the eggs in the chest to the one he was holding. "Whichever you like best of the three." It did not matter in the end. All knowledge of hatching the eggs had died with his great-grandfather.

"Your Majesty, surely this will give rise to protest." He put the egg he had been holding back. "I have already caused a stir." Not untrue, but certainly not something they could not face. Just as long he was more malleable than his mother.

"A very unexpected occurrence. I understand the wolf was a gift. A nice gesture on your uncle's part."

"It was Robb who insisted. Mother was quite adamant we not return with Ghost." Knowing Lyanna, he could well imagine how that conversation had played out.

"So you brought two of them." An act of rebellion as it were. Rhaegar smiled, not bothering to hide his reaction.

"It's safer. For the better part of our journey Ghost stood guard near mother."

"Choose one. As for consequences, you need not bother." Something like understanding flashed in his son's eyes. Had he an inkling? His hand reached out, settling over the middle egg; the one Rhaegar had put down. "That one?"

"This one," Jon confirmed. His hand was shaking.

"It is yours." The boy drew his hand back as though he'd burnt himself. But then, predictably enough, he picked up his prize. "If that is all, then you may go."

"Nay. There is one more thing." Having not expected it, Rhaegar gave the boy a stern look. "A question rather." He nodded, waiting for the other to speak his mind. "May I have Alys' horse? I want to train him."

One would think that being presented with not one but three dragon eggs in just as short amount of time would desensitise him to shocking occurrences. It was not the case. Alys' horse; the creature had been locked in a stable, under strict orders not to be walked. If he was fed and cleaned after, it was because Jon had pleaded for the beast.

"You are not asking me such a thing. It killed your sister."

"She fell. That was not the horse." Blood rushed through his veins, the motions pounding like drums. "Alys loved that horse. She would not wish to see it punished."

"I kept the fiend alive. That is more than enough leniency. Do not ask for more." For the length of a heartbeat Jon looked as though he might protest. But the words died upon his lips.

"Very well, Your Majesty." It was far from over. Rhaegar did not doubt an assiduous campaign would soon be carried out on the horse's behalf. He hoped he might be able to refuse and continue doing so indefinitely. The beast was not getting out of its stall if he had a say.


	8. viii - beggars would ride

The circle of lit candles stood in the middle of the room. Within the circle a small bow rested, its rim stained red. Rhaella glanced up at the lancet, glad the shutters had been drawn over it. Even through the wood, cold air invaded the chamber, threatening to blow out her candles. She frowned. The cup was not deep.

"Quit staring at that," Elaena snapped, tugging her hand away. Her sister wrapped a wide ornate strip of cloth around the wound.

"Ela, that's your ribbon. You'll stain it." Despite the words her kin did not let up. In fact, her younger sister rewarded the pertinent observation with a grim look which might have frosted the Trident over.

"I wish you wouldn't do these things. How are we supposed to explain this?" In spite of the censure suffusing the voice, Rhaella was not at all chastised. "'Tis bad enough without your interference. Our poor septa would be beside herself if she ever found out. And think only what should happen to us if word got to father."

"I did not mean to cut my hand. 'Twas but a moment of carelessness." She was usually not so clumsy with her knife. But she could not help that she'd been distracted. The distinct cawing without had done the harm. "Pass me the garlic" Elaena scowled but Rhaella merely held her hand out in silent demand. The mixture of honey and garlic soon found its way into her grasp. "That should do it, don't you think?"

"She lied to you," her sister insisted. "And more the fool you if you believe the gnarly old vagabond. Maesters distrust magic for good reason."

"They distrust it because they cannot understand it." She neared the circle and knelt, pushing the contents of the small contained into the bowl. Ground garlic covered in stick honey dripped forth. "All we need now is a pinch of salt. If you would be so kind."

"There is no such thing as a protective spell," Elaena went on even as she thrust the salt at her. "That charlatan fleeced you. Besides, how will you convince mother that a scrap of cloth is tantamount to her wellbeing? It is ludicrous and I should not be surprised in the least if she refuses to entertain such notions."

"The witch promised it would work. That aside, mother does not need to wear it. It simply needs to be upon her person."

"How will you convince her?" Elaena took the remaining salt away along with the empty contained. "Father does not look too kindly upon woods witches. I doubt he'd put too much stock in their advice."

"I will think of something and father needs never find out. Only until the child arrives, you know. I simply mean to make certain they are safe."

"I imagine the guards posted at her door go a long way to fulfilling your wish. We'd best put these away before we're caught." True to her word, she picked up the first candle and blew it out. "You might help."

"Ela, truly; it is just a bit of harmless ward setting. The worst they can do is chastise us for wasting perfectly good honey." Not precisely true, but still it was not as though the good people of Westeros were aware of her moonlit trips. And she has simply requested something to keep those she loved safe. "I could make one for you, if you wish."

"Do not trouble yourself; I am in no danger. You, on the other hand, shan't hear the end of it if word gets out. Isn't it enough that Jon insists on being unconventional with that creature he brought along? Must I have a witch for a sister as well?"

"Hush, Ela. From what I heard that creature gave our esteemed Dornish guests a fair salutation. As far as I care to know, at least." Elaena laughed, slapping both her hand upon her mouth but a moment later. "Targaryens rode dragons. I doubt a wolf would be considered all that eccentric."

"I wish father would allow me to attend court. He's wasting it on you instead. I wanted to see the wolves and cousin Robb, I believe Dany said he was called." Instead Elaena was kept busy with lessons and other activities befitting her station. And it was not so much their father orchestrating the whole of it.

"You goose, you can't even execute a proper curtsy without tripping over the hem of your skirts." She glanced down at her own skirts. Thankfully, she'd managed not to stain them. Although, considering that, not unlike Jon, she favoured the blacks over cheerier palettes, it was not much trouble even if she did occasionally forget herself. She was glad father allowed her to sit within her chambers when she wished it.

Elaena, on the other hand, bedecked in soft violets and blues very much put her in the mind of court dealings. "Can do," her sister disagreed with the earlier statement, her lips arranging themselves in a pout. "But he could have at least allowed us to see mother. Gaemon has been miserable all day and says he won't cheer up unless he sees her."

"Mother is resting. Might be we shall see her at supper." She could arrange to have a servant carry the token to her mother's chamber, meantime. Considering mother's companions had all been dismissed and no new ones were on hand, a servant would have to do.

"But you know," Elaena added slyly, "I don't think it's mother you're wanting to see." Rhaella's head shot up at that. She offered her sister a cold, inquisitive stare. A dare to go on. Elaena smiled innocently, twirling an errant curl around her finger. Instead of giving in, her sister merely cocked her head to the side, "At the very least now I shan't have to endure your constant sighing."

"I do not sigh, constantly or otherwise." Her clipped response did not seem to help matters. Ela rolled her eyes and gave an unladylike snort. "I do not."

They continued tidying the room in companionable chatter afterwards, with Ela knowing better than to broach any sensitive subjects. Still, every now and again, her sister gave a knowing look, testament to the fact that it was rare enough secrets were kept between them. It was not precisely that Rhaella was loathe to discuss the subject itself; as long as she'd been aware of her feelings, she'd known 'twas but a dream with no hope of fulfilment. It was simply easier to avoid wistful thinking than to endanger her heart.

After all, who knew what the future held.

Having put the candles away, locking them safely out of sight, she inspected her sister's hair. Once giving up the ribbon securing one of the many intricate loops making up her coiffure, Elaena had doomed the whole of it. "Do you want me to braid it?" she nodded towards the mess.

"If you'd be so kind. I might be too young to attend court, but I am certainly going to make a good impression at supper." A good thing then that Rhaenys had taken the attention of most young attendants for the past several days, thus sparing her sister any notice. Jon's return had certainly given their eldest sister enough drive to last her a lifetime. The way she struggled to garner support, one would think she meant to lead a military campaign and not mere revelries.

Elaena found herself a chair to sit upon and removed other combs and ribbons, allowing the mass of ringlets to fall down her shoulders. "Did I tell you about the dream I had last night?" she asked, picking lint off her skirts. The one trouble with Elaena was that she more often than not presented herself in a somewhat troubling light, insisting she talk about her dreams.

"Wait, let me guess. You saw," Rhaella paused, making a show of diving an answer, "a stack of lemon cakes as high as a mountain." Laughter came from her sister and she followed her lead.

"Not precisely. I dreamt of a bloody antler, if you must know. No lemon cakes were in sight, I am sorry to report. There was, however, what seemed like a pack of wolves." Elaena attached some meaning to those visions. She claimed she could understand half of what she saw.

"Masters frown upon divination as well," Rhaella reminded her. "Seers have been known to feed the fire or a pyre or two." It was more teasing than outright threat, since they knew well enough not to speak of such things without their chambers. "I could ask the witch about it. Might be that she can interpret its meaning."

"Not this night, surely. There is still too much excitement regarding mother's return. I say you wait a few days until matters have settled," Ela advised, gathering her ribbons and combs. "Should the guards endeavour to be more alert, you might get caught."

"The guards don't know about the hidden tunnels." She was more or less certain Aegon and Jon knew, but as far as she could tell the secret did not go further than close family. And since neither brother had until that point caught her she did not see the point in worrying. The less they knew, the less they'd worry, after all. "Apart from which I do not know how much longer the witch will remain in these parts." At the look upon her sister's face she turned to cajoling, "Don't you want to know what the dream meant?"

"It did not seem like a nice dream. Might be I am better off not knowing." Her sister stood, moving to the small chest they kept their numerous trinkets in. Rhaella followed, pulling up the lid.

"Careful now, it would be a pity to break a leg." There was no protest from the other. She simply deposited her possessions with utmost care before dusting off her hands. "You could come with me. There is no danger, truly."

"I don't want to know what the dream means. I tell you, there was blood." Obstinate as a mule, Ela raised her gaze to hers. "A bad dream is just a bad dream. No sense in giving it too much import."

There was sense. Elaena was just too young to recall there had been Targaryen who could read the future. The old witch had told her there were ways one could go about finding out. She had not attempted any of those tricks, not quite confident enough in her success to take the risk. "You are not making sense. 'Tis either that you believe or you do not. Which is it?" Might be Ela was one of those who had a knack for it.

Mother had told them about seers as well. No matter what the Maester Pycelle said, she had seen things defying the meagre explanations thus far offered by the most brilliant minds of the realm. If she knew the future, she might give warning. Of course, it would have to be carefully crafted warnings, more in the vein of mindless suggestions. 'Twas not so bad still.

"I do not believe in that. Next you'll be telling me how snarks and grumkins lie under my bed waiting to snatch me up." Jon and Aegon had certainly scared them enough times with such tales. She supposed they teased Gaemon as well when she was out of earshot. The Seven only knew poor Gaemon was more brave than sensible, which meant she'd yet to observe such goings-on.

Nevertheless, if she had known Alysanne would be riding to her doom on the day of her death, she could have made the horse throw a shoe and have the saddle checked and go along, though she did not relish the thought. Alys would not have liked it any better, but she'd have been alive. All complaints would have been meaningless.

"Might be they are." Elaena snorted, pushing feebly against her shoulder. Rhaella shook her hand off but did no more. "Are you prepared to go now, or should we linger here longer?" She glanced towards the door, wondering whether she ought to braid her own hair. Mother could surely like t better if she did, but then they were not entertaining. It could even be that the simpler Northern style would not be frowned upon in the least.

"Can you not wear something a little more cheerful?" Once more she inspected her kirtle. "Might be a red sash instead of the blue one? 'Tis all so dark. A little bit of colour might even attract some attention."

"I do not want attention." She narrowed her eyes in warning. The truth was she did not deal well with any manner of acute perception, wilting under the strain of it as a flower did beneath the desert sun. If she could get away with keeping to the shadows she would. Alysanne had always been more than pleased to compete with the likes of Rhaenys, which she did with great success if Rhaella could say so herself.

"I meant a particular someone's attention." Good to know her sister could still scheme. "What could it hurt?" There was that. Rhella felt herself relax.

"It will be difficult enough to explain this," she nodded towards her wounded hand. "I do not wish for further questions."

"Still, you might listen to me every now and again. I should like to see you in something other than black."

"Black is the colour of our house."

"There is no rule against wearing other colours that I know of," Ela laughed. "And should we not accustom ourselves to other colours beside? You shan't always be a Targaryen, Rhae. Some dashing knight will notice you despite your reticence."

"Of course I shall always be a Targaryen. Marriage will chance naught." Marriage had certainly not changed mother's allegiances that Rhaella could tell. "Why are we even discussing marriage. Neither of us is old enough to go through with any such scheme. And Rhaenys would have to wed first."

"Says who, stupid? Rhaenys does not wish to wed." She had said so on more than one occasion but Rhaella rather thought it bluster. "I certainly shan't wait after her and neither will you if you've a lick of sense."

"Ela, you're just a child. It will be years and years afore father lets you wed."

"Still, these things have to be carefully planned, Rhae. Do you not wish to know all you can about the man you'll wed?" Nay, in fact, the less she knew the better. Rhaella shrugged. A disappointed look crossed her sister's face. "Well, I do. Tell you what, I shall come find this witch of yours with you, if you convince her to look into my future."

"I thought you did not believe in any of it."

"I don't. But it can't hurt."

Naught could ever hurt Elaena, Rhaella decided with a shake of the head. She dusted off her skirts more out of habit and a need to occupy her hands than reason. Her sister followed her example despite the pristine state of her garb. "The faster we arrive, the faster we can eat."

"You're just saying that because uncle has yet to arrive."

"'Tis not my fault he is the most entertaining one." Uncle Viserys should be on his way in any event. Ravens did not travel the fastest but it had been some time since father had written and their uncle was certain to heed him.

"I wonder what gifts he's bringing."

"Is that all that matters to you?"

"Of course not. I also hope he's in good health. He promised to dance with me, you know."

"Aegon or Jon could dance with you."

"Aye, but Aegon always tugs me too hard and Jon never wants to dance." Complaints, complaints. A good thing she was not partial to dancing herself. "Father rarely dances with anyone other than mother, if he does at all." Not in public, at any rate. Father was not averse to dancing with them just as long as the purpose was of serious nature. And even mother danced for the most part with men other than their father. "Standing still at the table is too boring."

"Jon would dance with you if you'd actually wait for him to ask instead of grabbing onto his arm and making loud demands."

"I did not."

"Did too. I heard you all the way at the other end of the hall." She hadn't. But the scene playing out had spelled the matter clear enough. "He dances with me." And he'd danced with Alys as well, just not as oft as Aegon.

They removed the bolt from the door and made their way into the corridor. "He dances with Rhaenys as well. Not as though it matters."

"Wait the next time." Ela rolled her eyes.

Before she could get a word in, their mindful septa, who had possibly been sleeping by the way her garb presented itself, appeared, her arms full of a still sleepy Gaemon. "You are all ready, good."

"You can leave Gaemon to us," Rhaella said. "The walking will wake him for certain."

"Your Grace, I cannot do that. I shall wake His Grace and bring him in. Can I trust you have no need of me?" She'd not noticed Rhaella's bandaged hand. She breathed out in relief and nodded her head, trusting Ela to follow her example.

"Come on, Rhae," Ela tugged on her arm, "we should hurry before Aegon and Jon eat everything between the two of them. Might be Jon will bring the wolf as well, then we'll truly have naught to show for cook's effort."

"Which should please cook," Rhaella could not help but point out.

"But not our stomachs." Thankfully, they'd already started walking by then.

Elaena agreed. "We could sneak in for some lemon cakes."

"No more lemon cakes, Ela."

"But they are so good."

"If I hear about lemon cakes one more time, I will never let you have another one."

"You were the one who brought them up in the first place."

"When have I ever?"


	9. ix - argumentum ad ignorantiam

"I'd have thought you more resilient," Rhaenys observed good-naturedly, pressing his hand with her own. "And yet you return to us after so short a stay with your kin that I must wonder." Her smile was no less brilliant then her dark gaze and Jon was reminded, not for the first time, nor the last, he suspected, that his sister was not to be underestimated.

"Neither of us is entirely free in their choices," he replied just as easily, with a grin of his own. "I understand, though, that I am needed, Rhaella complained I've gone too long and she cannot be expected to assume my duties." Nor would he wish it of her. Good as Rhaella was, her soft nature did not lent itself to the more brutal aspects of court conflict; not, at least, without proper shielding.

"Speaking of choices, I was wondering if you've any idea what exactly it is you will be doing?" Their eyes met and held, the push and pull of children at war not unlike the early games of childhood. Nut they were not children. She continued to goad him. And one of these days he would forget she was his sister, and might just even answer in kind. "Aegon will soon have Dragonstone in his keeping. He shan't be here much longer."

"A proper lordling, that on," Jon jabbed without much thought. "As for myself, I shall do as I've always done. You know me, Rhaenys, I haven't our brother's talent, nor his patience." She made a thoughtful sound, the corner of her mouth dropping slightly. Jon knew that look. It was an expression indicative of the plotting she'd done in his absence. Though not as subtle as she wished to be, his sister remained very much frightening in her ability to bring him to awareness.

"I've been thinking." So had he. Somehow, though, he reached the worrying conclusion that their individual thought process carried them not on converging paths, but rather on distinct roads. He submitted still to her ersatz sisterly concern with a vague notion of hope attached to this meekness. Not unlike the cruel Maegor, he saw himself surrounded by shadows meaning to visit pain upon him; yet in his innocence, he believed a lack of transgression could impress upon these immutable convictions at the very least a smidgeon of doubt.

After all, was it not the mark of the unknowing to be so convinced in the power of justice. Fairness would dictate he not be put under suspicion in the same manner it asked of his fellow man to proceed with caution. Then again, Jon had long suspected it was the very notion of enmity which lent Rhaenys her strength, her absolute conviction that she was in the right and it was simply the rest of the world that had turned against her in some bizarre conspiracy to see her robbed of, well, quite frankly, Jon saw naught he needed from her.

"So I understand; what have you been thinking of?" There were things he would never understand; quite beyond his meagre possibilities. Jon watched the young woman, unable to believe she was the same person he'd played and laughed with as a child. Due to their close age, the two of them and Aegon had been constant companions in a sense. Before each understood precisely the position which had been assigned for them and acted in accordance to such rules as governed the bonds between them.

He supposed it began with his own lady mother ever so slowly eroding the tied between him and Aegon. For whatever reason, his brother remained perfectly insensitive to his mother's manoeuvres, yet Rhaenys seemed to catch every little instance. And thus she'd begun building her own walls.

"You could very well ask father for a position in the Kingsguard. Prince Aemon served with the greatest knights of his age. There is no reason why you should not be afforded the same consideration." She brought her hands together before her, all the better for him to notice her fingertips were stained. And that was not ink, if he didn't miss his mark. Jon wondered at the wisdom of refusing her outright.

"As far as I know, dearest sister, the Kingsguard has a fixed number of members. There are seven of them even now." They'd reached the end of the small path. "Shall we return?"

"If 'tis agreeable, let us speak here a short while longer." He nodded his heads for lack of a better response. He much doubted she'd let up and to bring the whole conversation before Aegon or father would not work in his favour. "Of course, you would not need to assume the role immediately. But I you cannot deny some of our knights are not young men any longer."

"Regardless, they are each and every single one, an example every knight is expected to follow. I would hardly dare compare myself to any of them." Heavens, even Ser Jaime, the youngest and, ostensibly enough, the one whose merits had been debatable before he took his vows, was like to lay his flat on his back within minutes. Or rather, as far as anyone knew.

"Modesty becomes you. But my uncle would stand behind you, I am certain. And Ser Arthur can surely be convinced. That ought to be more than enough support." There she went, deciding other people's future for them. "Say you will at least consider it."

A trap well placed. Jon considered her for a brief moment before nodding his head apathetically. There was little reason in giving her cause to grow angry. "There is a chill in the air and I should like to avoid all head colds if at all possible." To prove his point he allowed himself a visible shiver. She would not know 'twas not the cold that caused it.

"You never change, do you, Jon?" Rhaenys laughed, resembling more the girl he used to play with than the severe young woman well-caught into the trap villainy and treachery pervading the fabric of their society.

Unable to answer in a satisfactory manner or even to satisfy himself with a cutting remark at her expense, he simply motioned weakly with his head, glad when she questioned little. He wanted time to think, time to consider what his next move would be in light of all the planning going on around him. Rhaenys had been rather straightforward, but even if she herself wished him safely removed from the spheres of influence likely to turn him against his brother, some might wish for a more permanent solution. He could think of one or two names. Bristling at the thought, Jon carefully extricated himself from further conversation with his eldest sister, pleading a case of fatigue. Whether she believed him or not, Rhaenys allowed his retreat with a sharp look of triumph.

He avoided Aegon as well, deliberately blinding himself to the obvious disappointment the other so readily exposed to the outer-world. It was as though Aegon had never quite learned the rules of the game. Either that or he deliberately bent them. Jon told himself it did not matter; the game forgave no transgression.

Once within his chamber, he found Ghost perched upon the wide bed, hand dangling over the edge. The direwolf did not acknowledge his entrance, apparently more caught up in his own dreams. Jon moved around the bed, making for the trunk at its foot. Without further ado, he lifted the lid and pulled out his most prised possession.

The scales gleamed with untapped potential. All he needed was to hatch them. A faint chuckle dusted itself across his lips. Summerhall had burnt down for the ambitions of former dragonriders. It could simply be that he was dealing with a futile quest. Although the thought of a dragon lent him a fraction more confidence. He should dearly enjoy the slow death of a few rumours.

Weighty in his hands, the treasure gave no sign of being aware of its master's turmoil. Ghost, however, had finally lifted his head, training his eyes upon him. Jon reached out, allowing the beat to give him an affectionate nip. "Not too hard now, boy." He'd seen what the teeth of a direwolf could do. The egg was placed back in its original place and Jon carefully handled the latch. "There we go." He stood, forcing himself to move away from the chest and its contents.

Baring some unfortunate incident, he would not have to face either of his older siblings. The younger ones, however, he would not vouch for. With that in mind, Jon saw to the necessary preparations, wondering briefly if he ought to encourage such behaviour in the first place.

True to form, a knock on the door announced the arrival of one disgruntled Elaena. She'd not even waited for him to open the door. A pout stuck firmly to her face, his sister began, just as he'd expected, with a demand. "You have to tell Rhaella that she must not allow Gaemon anywhere near Alys' birds."

His surprise was not much expanded when Rhaella followed, Gaemon in her arms. Jon sighed. "Rhae, Ela, Gaemon. Can we not discuss this on the morrow?"

"Absolutely not. Just tell him," Elaena pointed at their brother, "that he cannot have Alys's birds and we have nothing more to discuss." She crossed her arms over her chest and stamped her foot at his non-reaction. "Jon!"

"Now what exactly is going on here?" He took Gaemon from his sister, allowing the boy to settle comfortably against him. Ghost clambered down from his spot upon the bed and came sniffing about. Gaemon flinched. His wide-eyed stare fixed upon the creature. "He won't hurt you."

Rhaella took hold of Elaena's shoulder when the other seemed inclined to step in. "There, there; give me your hand." Gaemon allowed his wrist to go limp. Jon led it near Ghost. "See? He's just curious about you. Aren't you curious as well?"

Gaemon bit his lower lip. He hesitated before splaying his fingers out. Ghost's nose touched the middle of his palm. A giggle broke through the boy's nervousness. And then he nodded. "Naught to fret over, is there?"

He set Gaemon down upon the rug, encouraging him to play with Ghost, who, having found someone within his own age-range, proceeded to wiggle to and fro excitedly. Seeming to understand whatever it was the wolf tried to convey, Gaemon playfully lunged at him.

"Boys and dogs," Elaena managed after a moment of stunned silence.

"I think out Gaemon will do just fine, Ela. If he can handle that, he can handle anything." Ghost's paw came down upon the child's back, just as Gaemon stood, upsetting the wolf's balance. Ghost growled in protest and Gaemon produced a similar sound.

"Except that the wolf won't try to peck his eyes out." It might just claw them out. The rough and tumble play would sooner or later result in some injury.

"Then he'd best learn to defend himself," Jon silenced the fretting Elaena. "If Gaemon wants to care for the hawk, as long as he is watched, I do not see that there is anything to worry about."

"He could be hurt. Do you not understand?"

"Ela, you could be hurt walking down the stairs. If you wish to keep an eye on him, do so. But if you mean to impede him, step aside." Thankfully for all of them, Gaemon was much too busy with Ghost to pay them mind. "It is a good opportunity for him."

"Aegon suggested it," Rhaella told him with a small smile.

"There you go, Ela. If Aegon said he could have the hawk, we might as well bow to his wisdom." Alys had had an affinity for those creatures; doubtlessly she'd trained them well, irrespective of her slip with the horse. "I trust this discussion is over for now?"

Elaena begrudgingly accepted his verdict while Rhaella nodded her head approvingly. Jon breathed out in relief, grateful for the opportunity to prove some worth even in such small measure.


	10. x - ignorance is bliss

Relief wound itself tightly around Viserys, much like an unwanted embrace. He did not flinch from the uncomfortable warmth settling within his breast at the sight of his brother and the man's beloved. The rightness of it should have soothed his nerves. Instead it served to put him in a position of wary curiosity.

"Took you long enough," his brother commented, putting away his quill with a soft smile. The sort of smile Viserys saw only by and by. "I sent you that latter moon turns past."

"Alas, one depends on fair wind for safe arrivals." Without waiting for an invitation, he took a seat near the bay window where his good-sister rested. Rosy light filtered through the stained glass, the warm, predawn colours adding a cheerful note to the bleak grey of her kirtle. "Good-sister, you look radiant."

"That would be the light," she commented back tartly, holding her hand out for him to grasp. He gave the limb a light, affectionate squeeze. "Although, considering you have given me only the faintest of compliments, I am forced to wonder at the sincerity of your words."

"I am allowed to take such liberties? My lady, I must stress the fact that your husband is here before us." He rose nevertheless and leaned in kissing both her cheeks, for which she rewarded him with a warm smile, carrying memories of childhood and something akin to nostalgia. Turning with a look of faux guilt, he addressed his brother, "'Twas not my doing. You saw she was the instigator."

"I am under no illusion regarding my wife." The smile melted from Lyanna's lips. She assumed a more austere expression before shifting her attention to the folds of her skirts, pleating them and stroking the creases away. "How were your travels?"

"I write to you of that, Your Majesty." He sat back in his chair, wondering if he ought to ask about the obvious gulf between husband and wife. He cocked his head to the side. "Did you not receive any of my missives?"

"None of your missives mentioned the companions you'd bring back."He spared only a moment to the surprise on his good-sister's face. But then Rhaegar had the little birds twittering to him while his poor good-sister was forced to make do with her own capacity of ferreting out secrets. "Might be ypu should like to tell us a word or two about them."

"I hardly think your wife would welcome such talk."

"And you needed two?" the woman managed.

"I needed only one. The other is some manner of priestess. I thought her a worthy curiosity and thus brought her back with me. I can hardly credit all the fuss." He looked down at his lacquered boots.

"A curiosity," his brother repeated.

"Indeed. Spend but a few moments in her presence and you shall understand. Although, I should caution great care. I have yet to meet a fire that did not burn." His good-sister moved with some difficulty from her bay window seat.

Lyanna had never been graceful in her pregnancies as far back as Viserys could remember. A marked difference from his brother's erstwhile wife. That one was the epitome of grace even at the height of a tirade. Nevertheless, as he watched her carry her weight, he could not help but smile. She might not be graceful, but she was arresting. "I do believe I am a proverbial third wheel. If Your Majesty would be kind enough to excuse me."

"Of course, lady wife, just as soon as you have given me the names of your preferred companions." Her moue fell yet again. So there was some manner of argument going on between them. His brother stared expectantly at the woman. When she neglected to offer him anything of value, he waved her back to her seat. "Rest. 'Tis not good for the babe to strain yourself."

"'Tis also not particularly helpful to the babe that I be badgered constantly. If I said it once, I said it a thousand times; I do not need new companions. The ones I had were suitable."

"Why would my good-sister have need of new companions?" Viserys gave up his own seat for Lyanna. Clearly, she desired to defy her husband, and the least form of it would be choosing a different seat than the one he'd indicated. Best to keep the conflict upon a smaller scale.

"How else is she to keep entertained during her confinement?" That again. Little wonder the woman was on edge.

"Might be she need not be confined at all, Your Majesty. After all, my good-sister is the picture of health." But might be the picture was treacherous. Viserys contemplated for but a moment the fear he saw in his brother's eyes. "The brightest minds are available to see to her needs should a situation arise in any event."

Despite his words, his gaze moved surreptitiously to the other in the chamber. The light had waned some and he could see that what had seemed a healthy glow was becoming paler and paler yet, as though she were in some manner of pain. Granted, he did not imagine the additional weight to carry around was pleasant necessarily, but she had had children before and none had seemed to affect her quite in such a manner.

"I am well and need not be kept like a child to my own bedchamber." Rhaegar opened his mouth, to contradict her no doubt, but she carried on without waiting for him to interrupt. "But if it puts your mind at ease, Your Majesty, I am willing to submit. But I am not giving up my companions."

"You will do what I tell you to do."

"Not at all. I find myself much in disagreement with Your Majesty."

"At times I think you forget to whom you speak."

"I am never given the opportunity to, Your Majesty."

His brother's face caught fire. Viserys was fairly certain it would not be long until the pressure got to him. "Are you that bent on dragging the whole ugly business before others?"

"I have nothing at all to hide," she spoke in a firm voice. "Methinks it would have served me better to remain with my brother." She made to stand.

"Sit back down." She hesitated. "Now." His wife obeyed, though her expression indicated she would not give another inch. "I am not done speaking to you."

"Speaking at me is more like it," the woman snapped back.

The volley between spouses made him increasingly nervous. As a general rule, he abhorred confrontations and would have left, yet the notion's appealingness paled ever so slightly at the ire his brother displayed. The man's anger could just as easily be turned upon others. The way Lyanna got under his skin; if only he were able to so easily rankle others.

"You are deliberately being difficult," his brother bit out.

"I would not be so very difficult if you left me be. Why is it never enough with you? No matter what I do, it never goes any way to alleviate a thing." She crossed her arms over her chest. "In any event, Your Majesty, if you think the situation not worth the effort, you've a viable alternative to fall back on. It is certainly not right to expect you to sacrifice yourself in such a manner."

They were not truly discussing confinements or the changing of her retinue. Viserys felt just a tad slow for not having caught on sooner. The fascinating thing was that he was in equal measure mesmerised, just as he was taken aback. Damnation, could he hiss only chance to understand what it was that kept to obviously very stubborn people together yet apart. To his luck they both seemed to have forgotten his presence.

"Leave you be," his brother snorted. "And what should you like to do? Visit Baelor's Sept, might be. You'll be disappointed to find the pillars are sturdy there and you aren't likely to need much rescue from your valiant knight."

She flinched. For the first time, Lyanna looked genuinely hurt. "That is beneath you, Rhaegar. Ser Jaime has no part in this."

"But you, of course, may bring Elia into the discussion without fear of repercussions."

"I have yet to hear any attempts at persuading me I should turn my attention to another, or at the very least," she paused, "how did he put it," she mused before finding the answer, "aye, or at the very least find a respectable match."

"And I told you to discount such discourse if you happen to hear it."

"You act as if you are not permanently tied to her. As though two children are not an unbreakable bond." Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "I chose you in spite of the very real possibility that you can, at any time, change your mind about me."

A dark chuckle came from his brother. "I must have dreamt you telling me you chose the most likely father to a hero. Elia wanted a crown; at least she had the decency to be honest about it."

A hero? It kept getting better and better. Viserys was not at all certain he could guess where the whole thing was going. If anything, he was more certain than ever that the cleverest of creatures could be unbelievably, bafflingly stupid in some regards. As if one could elect to step in the shoes of hero or knave at birth. But then Rhaegar had believed his son to be the prince that was promised. Why should Lyanna Stark not believe herself capable of creating a hero as well?

"Is that so wrong then?" The challenge in her words caused a brief silence to fall between the three of them. Not that Viserys had been contributing to the conversation. He looked from one to the other. "Am I to have planned no further than birthing you children and mending linens?"

"Aye, gods damn you, woman."

How fascinating. Viserys heartily wished there were some way to for him to be in possession of all the knowledge. Lyanna, meantime, stroked her middle with some speed, indication enough that his brother's words did not simply entered through one ear and passed through the other. She was considering his accusation. And even more, seemed mollified.

"I am not responsible for your insistence that I be put on some pedestal. Whatever you may think, Your Majesty, I am a flesh and blood woman. And there is nothing I have to reproach to myself."

"One of these days, lady wife, you will have pushed me too far," Rhaegar warned. Then, as if finally recalling his presence, his brother sighed loudly. "I would beg your pardon, brother, and your understanding in this matter. What you have just heard is not for the ears of anyone else."

"My lips are sealed." It was neither the first marriage he saw disintegrating before his own eyes, and he imagined, it would neither be the last. "Might be my good-sister should like to retire now, brother. This manner of discussion is bound to tire her out."

"You are correct, of course," Rhaegar allowed. "Lady wife, we will discuss this further at a more opportune moment. Pray, give some thought to my request. This is the last time I ask." Her jaw set, Lyanna gave an unwilling nod and stood, hands worrying the Myrish lace adorning her kirtle. "Go now. Just go."

She left, though not without one last long look to her husband. Whatever the meaning behind that was, Viserys could not decipher. Something told him he did not wish to at any rate. Left in the company of his brother, without the shield his good-sister provided, Viserys found himself more or less compelled to put a question forth, "How is it that whenever I witness such arguments, they are between people who should know much better?"

"Do not start with me. This is no concern of yours." In spite of such words, the King of the Seven Kingdoms looked lost.

"But it is. Alas, I know when not to push." He held his hands up, palms facing his brother in a calming manner. Having convinced himself the danger was past when his sibling declined to respond, Viserys tucked out the small gift he'd been sent. The broken halves of the figurine clattered upon the table. "Yet I remain perplexed. Why was I called back?"

"There is an issue I need your aid with." The white dragon was retrieved by its owner and tucked away into a small carved box. "I have received favourable answers from Lord Tyrell and now from Stannis Baratheon as well; if all goes well I do not doubt we will have ensured long-lasting ties." Much needed ties, considering some bridges had been burnt in the past. Viserys nodded understandingly. "I have not, however, received any manner of answer from Jon Arryn."

"Arryn?" he could not help but repeat. "You are not considering a match with the Arryns, are you? You cannot possibly; Jon Arryn is quite possibly the closest man in the kingdoms to Robert Baratheon."

"Jon Arryn is not an unfair man." His brother frowned. "If I did not think it necessary, I would not push for it." There were other strong houses he could parlay with, surely. Viserys shook his head. "You will take Jaime Lannister with you and address my request to Lord Arryn in person."

"And which unfortunate soul is to be sacrificed to the beast?" Had he planned to give Alysanne's hand in marriage? Little wonder the girl had acted out, insisting to go riding on her own. But then, might be he was reading too much into the matter.

"You believe this is an easy choice for me? I have protected my children for as long as it was within my power to do so. Rhaella will doubtlessly enjoy the change of scenery." The worst possible choice. Viserys fought back his first reaction. It was unfortunately a hurdle he knew his poor niece would have to jump.

"Elaena would fare better," he offered. "She shan't be easily cowed."

"Sometimes I do think you underestimate her." Far be it from him to naysay a father who, at the end of the day, ought to know his own children. But Viserys could not quite knock the notion that Rhaella, though dutiful girl and resigned by nature, would suffer needlessly were she to take on such a match. "After you have convinced Arryn, send word. Rhaella will follow shortly. The sooner this matter is concluded, the better."

"Have you spoken to my good-sister about this notion of yours?"

"To what purpose? House Stark has too long been without the necessary connections to be of aid in this." Not to mention the tiny problem of the woman's actions having scandalised quite a few people with her choices.

"You see, this is quite beyond my understanding. Would it not be better to convince Doran Martell to consent to a marriage between his eldest son and Rhaella. It shall naturally not bruise his pride too much as his heir is bound to find a husband of her own whom will doubtlessly sire a few children."

"I have my reasons for not pursuing that path."

"And might these reasons revolve around your first wife?" His brother gave no indication that was the case, but Viserys was not about to give up his line if inquiry. "Are you might be afraid some harm will befall your daughter?"

"Of course not. Rhaella is simply more suited for the match I propose." At that very moment it came to him. Viserys realised his brother had not refused a match with House Martell. He had simply denied Rhaella the possibility of such a match.

"Who would be more suited to a match with House Martell, then?" he pressed, his mind having already found an answer. "It occurs to me Rhaenys took well to her uncle's court. But even more, I hear she and her cousin, Arianne, have become fast friends."

"Small concessions must be made every now and again," his sibling allowed, toying with one of the many quills which found little use beyond decorative purposes during their discussions. "All the better if Rhaenys finds the Dornish court comfortable."

"You do not think her words have some sway over her brother?"

"If they do, Rhaella shall counter then, I've no doubt."

"Best you wed her to Stark's heir then. We should not wish to tear anyone from their own." She stood, moving over to the lancet. Without, the waning light drained beneath the horizon line. "Sometimes I tell myself you are not at all like father, whose one moment of weakness saw to laying the foundations of a very difficult situation indeed. And then you will do something like this. And I am forced to reassess my beliefs."

"The further one is from the throne, the more possibilities one has." Certainly not a lie, but cold comfort nonetheless. "I shan't speak to either Lyanna or Rhaella until we've an answer from Arryn. Can I count on you?"

"And Ser Jaime?" The King regarded the change of subject with a flicker of annoyance. Viserys could not find it in himself to care.

"He will remain with my daughter until she is well-settled, after which I shall send proper replacement." His brother could be so blind when it suited him.

"Send Ser Arthur or Ser Jon. It shall seem a strange thing to be sending Ser Jaime away when court is abuzz with rumour." And admission, even. One which could shake poor Lady Lyanna not only off her pedestal, but off the face of the earth.

"You will have to trust that I know what I am doing. Now, I ask you one more time, can I count on you?"

Something in the man's voice forced a favourable reply to his own lips. "You know very well that you can. Yet I cannot keep from voicing my worry at this, Your Majesty. I beg you would reconsider."


	11. xi - small disasters

_To SilentReader97: I am still thinking of how to go about the alliances/family tree. Will try to have it up soon._

* * *

Grey Wind wrestled Ghost to the ground, playfully nipping at his throat. Jon chuckled at the display and nudged Robb. "If I did not know any better, I would think the creature takes after its master." His kin deflected the words with a shake of the head and a snort of amusement.

"I think he simply feels stifled. Her Majesty was right in suggesting we leave them North. Winterfell is eminently more suited to offering them space." Not that the Red Keep was particularly small. Jon had wiled his days away in even more crammed abodes. The trouble was, Robb was not entirely wrong. Not only was the lack of space a problem, but the reception suffered as well. Naturally two direwolves were not necessarily endearing to lords and ladies and while the close family had accepted the beasts, Jon had begun to question his own decision.

"They will both adapt, I do not doubt, and Grey Wind shall be ever pleased once he returns to his home." He poured himself some more wine. "Speaking of home, how do you find the keep?" His own duties had kept him more in the company of his brother, although he had gone riding with Robb. The trouble was that being joined by a gaggle of sisters and brothers, he could not quite find the moment to ask for a honest opinion.

"It is a beautiful home. But I warrant 'tis closer to the beauty of winter than you first let on. Somehow, in spite of all the fires burning, I find this place to be cold." For a while he had thought he was the only one feeling such things. A mark of his impiety, doubtlessly a further strain upon the already burdened relationship of his parents, adding to the uncertainty-dominated atmosphere. He was glad 'twas not simple insanity which brought him to such a conclusion. "Although I should not wish you to believe there is aught lacking."

"A contradiction worthy of deep pursuit." He downed a mouthful of his wine, allowing it to wash away some of his anxiety. "We cannot all of us boast such good fortune as you." Robb simply shrugged at that and reached for his own cup. "I saw my aunt was rather taken with you during our ride." That proved to be just the thing to unbalance the other.

Robb gave him a strange little look before shaking his head. "If she has an interest, surely it is not I me. It was she spoke of."

"Trying to pry information from you I do not doubt." His kin hesitated. He gave a slow nod and his expression exhibited just a drop of guilt. "Would your father be against such a match, do you think?"

"With Her Grace?" Obviously, he must have not been clear. Jon gave his companion a meaningful look. "I do not see how you would go about justifying such a union in the first place. Your lady mother is herself a link between our houses."

"A tenuous link at best," Jon corrected. Again Robb had guilt to offer. Jon ignored it. "To my mind, however, Winterfell has protected something very precious to my house. As such it seems only appropriate that a reward be bestowed."

"Your gratitude is reward enough, Jon." Grey Wind ambled towards his owner, having tired of playing with Ghost. Robb scratched behind his ear.

"For you. But I mean to reward House Stark. Since the manner of my mother's elopement brought little but grief, I thought we might see to it that the houses be brought together through more cheerful means. My aunt is not spoken for, and as far as I know neither are you."

"I cannot vouch for my father's plans, but as far as I am aware no negotiations have taken place." A perfect opportunity in other words. "'Tis not that I do not appreciate the thought, but have you considered Her Grace will not accept the match herself if it is put to her?"

"Dany? I doubt it. That girl has been waiting to wed since she understood what that was. In all fairness, I did not bring you here simply so that you may admire the tapestries hanging in the hall. You've seen how matters stand." In spite of Robb not being able to see it, he was fairly certain he had guessed right that there was an attraction between the two.

"With or without such a link between us, I would still come to your aid." Heartening as such words were, Jon could but smile and nod, his dismissal clear. Robb's gaze narrowed. "Whatever grudge my father may hold against His Majesty, you should know by now that I am not my father anymore than you are your own."

"I am not speaking of forcing your hand. But I do want you to consider the issue. I will bring it forth to His Majesty." Daenerys, of course, could well be convinced to go along with the scene if he presented it to her in such a manner as to entice her cooperation. Which he could do if he managed to have a few moments with her. And doubtlessly he would. Daenerys was likely to keep company with Rhaenys or her brother. The first he could push away with a few words and the latter he would simply as for a few moments with his aunt.

"Very well, if you've set your heart on this, then I don't suppose I can change your, although, I do believe you might wish to broach the subject with your lady mother first. She ought to know how to put the issue to His Majesty."

"We shall see." Ghost settled himself at his feet, paws pushing into his leg as the wolf lied on his side, apparently more comfortable with such a position. Jon nudged Ghost with his foot, but instead of a pertinent reaction he got a yawn for his efforts. Satisfied with even that much he returned his attention to his cousin.

Grey Wind carried himself in a much prouder manner, tapping Robb's knee with his paw. Before the poor man could do aught to dissuade his pet from further disruption they were interrupted by slightly less amusing means. As families went, his close kin had long ago decided they could come to him whenever they felt like it. What he had not expected and gave him quite the cause for worry was that he was faced with both of his older siblings.

The latter of the two was dragging the firstborn within with enough force that Rhaenys nearly tripped. And for once Aegon's features lost their customary calm, giving way to worrisome ire. Ignoring, most conveniently, Robb's presence, Aegon stated the cause of his arrival without hesitation. "Rhaenys has something to tell us about Rhae and Ela."

Tugging her wrist free at long last, Rhaenys growled at her brother before turning an apprehensive eye towards him. The apparent hesitation was not helping her case, neither with him, nor with her sibling, as he prodded her gently. "Stop that!" she snapped. "Before I tell you anything, Jon, I should make it clear that I was against it from the very beginning. Alas, I chose to keep quiet because I did not think Rhaella would go over my word. She ought to know better."

"It would serve you better to tell me what it is Rhaella has done and what Elaena has to do with it." He rose, Ghost moving alongside him. "Robb, you may retire."

"On the contrary, cousin. I mean to remain precisely where I am." Jon pushed back the urge to turn on him for the blatant refusal. More pressing matters were at hand.

"Go on then, dearest sister." His urging resulted in a deep blush breaking over her skin.

"You will recall, of course, that a few turns past we visited the orphaned children. With our duties done we decided a walk in the market would be just the thing. I turned for only a moment, I swear, but when I looked back, I saw she was speaking to this unkempt hag who must have not seen an ewer of water in nigh a decade. Of course I pulled her aside and questioned her. It turns out she has known this woods witch for some time. You will not believe how difficult it was to pull even that from her. Seeing myself in such a situation I insisted to go with her when the witch suggested what she called a scrying session. And after returning to the keep, I made her promise she would never return to that woman's abode on her own."

The wall of words hit him hard, but more so the distinct worry crawled its way within him, curling into the pit of his stomach, a hot stone burning his insides. "I assume correctly that side-stepped the stipulation of her promise? But did Elaena not know of this interdiction?"

"Elaena did not seem interested in any of it. I did not think to say a thing to her beyond congratulating her on the appropriately amused reaction she had to the whole episode." That, at least, made sense.

"Father is still in the great hall. If we hurry, we may solve this matter before it gets out of hand." The trouble was, it was already very much out of hand. Jon sighed and nodded his head tiredly. "Might be our cousin would agree to return to the great hall and make it known to Her Majesty that she is to keep him there longer."

"I would rather come with you to retrieve Their Graces. My aunt would doubtlessly be put out by such knowledge." Aegon looked like he wanted to protest, but Jon cut him off.

"I suggest we make for the stables. The less time we waste, the better. If you would accompany Her Grace to the stables, Robb. Aegon, I wish a word with you." Robb likely understood it was more of an order than a request. He complied with nary a sound, though Rhaenys gave him a bitter look. Once alone, he asked, "How did you come about such knowledge?"

"I simply happened by it. To be entirely honest, one of the servant girl came running into the hallway, all in a panic, crying about sorcery and witchcraft. She found a mandrake bathed in milk beneath Rhaella's bed and claimed the thing had eaten the girl. The commotion attracted Rhaenys and the rest you know."

"The servant girl?" Disconcerting as her finding must have been, Jon would see her safely contained. At the very least until he could find some way to deal with her. Of course he could deny all knowledge of her accusations, even go as far as having his sisters deny it too. Surely father would not throw them to the wolves, as it were. But he could be pressured into giving some of them up if he thought it might solve matters. After all, it was better to save at least a few than none.

"I've given orders that she keep quiet. Rhaenys took her to her chamber and left her in the care of Theia. For the moment, we are safe." Theia. A good choice. That one had no compunction about following orders; furthermore, she enjoyed her position of power and was not like to allow the servant girl even the slightest change of escape.

As safe as they could be in any event. Jon stroked the back of his neck, uneasy. "How could I have missed it?" Rhaella of all people? The quiet sister, kind and entirely too easy to forget. He should have seen it coming, of course. Quietness did not mean a lack of thoughts. Jon grew more and more annoyed at himself. Aegon was not supposed to know more than him about his own sisters. Rhaenys neither.

"We all missed it. The important thing is to solve this now." The ever perfect Aegon, forever ready to aid.

"A mandrake bathed in milk. Do you know anything about that?" They began walking to the door. Ghost attempted to follow, but Jon sent him back.

Aegon shook his head. "The servant girl said it was also wrapped in cloth, much like a child would be. I cannot think of a purpose such a thing might serve. But it seems to me we shall need to have a care with this. Relations are already strained with the Citadel."

"I will take care of it." Rhaella would hear something of his mind as soon as he got his hands on her. Might be something of a good tug on her braids as well. It should work to help her understand her mistakes. Elaena he would have to think about. The simple truth was, Ela was nowhere near stupid enough to not envision their taking off would cause some trouble should they be found out. The servant girl, of course, would have to be questioned about the state of the chamber. That might work to clarify some of the matter.

"Jon," Aegon called placing a hand upon his shoulder. "We will take care of it." Aye, so they would. That did not mean he had to like it one bit. Being indebted to his brother was worse than any punishment he could conceive of, and having spent some time picking his own brain as to what could be the worst possible such penalties, he would have some idea.

Having no way by which to make known his thoughts upon the matter he chose to keep his counsel instead. There would come a day when he might tell Aegon just were they stood in truth. Until then, it would serve him best, Jon reckoned, to go along easily. He locked Grey Wind and Ghost within the chamber, closing his ears off to whines and barks.

The stable hands yet awake regarded then with a decent amount of worry. Jon imagined that if he were a servant, he too would find fault with such decisions as late night rides. It occurred to him that Rhaella and Elaena had not, then, made use of horses. Two girls, walking along in King's Landing to the gods knew which part of the town. He almost suggested they go to father and have him sort the matter out. Alas, if father knew than mother would as well. There would be cause for quarrel between them yet again. And he would once more be the seed of discord.

Jon walked to his sister's horse. The beast, having woken at some point, kicked at the ground angrily. "Bring my saddle," he requested of the closest stable hand. The boy's face paled, his freckles standing out even in the low firelight.

"Begging pardon, Y'er Grace, but we have strict orders. Thoas is to remain here."

"Jon, now is not the time to worry about that bloody beast," Aegon attempted to pull him away.

"I ride Thoas, brother," he replied in a determined manner, jumping the wooden wall into the stall. "With or without a saddle." He stroked the beast's neck, feeling the muscles tense and relax under his ministrations.

"Father was clear about the horse." For all intents and purposes, Aegon seemed poised to remind him about the orders. Not because he would derive some sort of pleasure from thwarting him, but simply because faultless Aegon could not envision breaking the rules anymore than Jon himself could envision closing himself off to all signs of danger and blindly carrying on.

"Father is not here." He unlatched the door of the stall blindly, whistling gently. The steed followed him obediently. "And I will not see the poor creature tortured any longer." He moved away, leaving Thoas to his own devices while he retrieved his saddle and bridle from the stall of his own horse, a horse that apparently was much too lazy to be bothered with his master's approach.

Given he knew his way around horses better than he did around his father's court, he was not surprised that Thoas gave him no trouble. A benefit of the education his mother bestowed upon him. Meantime, the others had their own horses prepared. Jon mounted, allowing Thoas to familiarise himself with the new rider. An ornery beast by nature, the horse did not seem to appreciate the added weight. Indeed, Alys would have been somewhat more comfortable a burden.

Thoas reared back, hind legs bending slightly. Jon braced for the lift, holding tightly onto the reins. "East, boy. Easy." But Thoas was not giving in. Jon squeezed gently. "Down." Thoas's hooves touched the ground, but instead of calming, he sprang forth and nearly sped into the stable doors. Fortunately, he was saved from a few broken bones by a smart stable hand managing to open the doors at the last moment.

In the yard, Jon had a better time of subduing the horse. Thoas kicked and jumped, but he was the better of the two and won the skirmish even if with some effort. His success was met with exasperation from his elder brother. "You madman! You might have died," Aegon yelled over the distance between them. Mounted on his horse, he stood before the stable doors.

"A comet may land at any moment and plunge us into a hell of fire as well," he answered. Thoas neighed and pounded against the ground, making his impatience known. Or might be his incredulity at the idea of a comet smacking into them. The horse might be surprised to know that it was not outside the realm of possibility. "If we could be on our way, Your Grace," he continued, tugging on the reins to calm the beast.

Aegon dug his heels in the flanks of his horse, spurring the beast on. Smaller and somewhat slimmer than Thoas, his brother's steed pranced towards them. Rhaenys and Robb followed, the first bearing her annoyance with no elegance to speak of, the second more at ease but by no means relaxed.


End file.
